One Foot in the Grave: the 98th Hunger Games
by In Writing
Summary: Head Gamemaker Parthenope Adresta doesn't plan to be in her position for much longer. But will she get her long sought after break, or is there trouble brewing on the horizon? The 98th Hunger Games are starting, and they're shaping up to be way more than she bargained for. (CLOSED SYOT)
1. Prologue

**01 **— **Prologue**

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**Parthenope Adresta (26) ****—** **1:20AM  
Gamemaker HQ /Two weeks until Reaping Day**

Her eyes are stinging as she stares down at the paperwork on her desk, her eyes taking in the words but her tired and overworked brain stubbornly refusing to process them properly. Another sigh, one of many in the past few hours that she'd been holed up in her office, forces itself out of her mouth and her head falls onto the paper with a dull thud. There's a burst of pain, but she's way too tired to react to it and so she just squeezes her eyes shut and hopes that there won't be a bruise. She already spends far too much time in the makeup chair before public appearances already, and she doesn't think she can stomach any more just to cover it up. The job that had started out as something exciting is slowly turning into a chore and every hour in the headquarters is reinforcing the idea that maybe she shouldn't have applied last year after Rex Solomon's departure; maybe she should have just let the job go to one of the other promising fresh-faces she'd attended the group interviews with.

She lifts her head when it seems as if she's going to fall asleep, glancing at the wall several times before she finally processes the numbers on the clock face. Parthenope has never been one to go to bed later, preferring an early night and an early morning to anything else, and she realises belatedly that she has less than five hours before she has to be back here. Is it even worth going back home at this point? Surely nobody would notice if she wore the same clothes. With another sigh she glances back at the camp bed folded up and leaning against the wall, a welcoming present from Rex. Parthenope had scoffed when she first received it, assuming that the present was somewhat of a joke, but now there is nothing but gratitude inside of her.

A camp bed isn't exactly her first choice of a place to sleep, but it beats sleeping hunched over this damn desk. Never one to admit defeat, she looks back down at the paperwork. If only her mind would actually cooperate with her, she would more than likely get this done before she collapses for a few hours and squeezes in as much sleep as she possibly can. But the words just aren't registering, and she leans backwards in her chair with a quiet groan.

Next year can't come soon enough. She'll be free of this torment. Only being Gamemaker for one year, her name is unlikely to go down in the history books. She can't decide whether that bothers her or not. At first, she'd been elated at the prospect of being Head Gamemaker; after all becoming a household name across all of Panem is one hell of an incentive. But with news crews following her home from work and people waiting outside her apartment day after day just to get a glimpse of her isn't exactly how she imagined it going. Parthenope had envisioned pictures with people in the street, TV appearance after TV appearance, not necessarily a hero status. It makes her uncomfortable how people have begun to view her.

The knock on her door that makes her heart start hammering is so quiet that at first she doesn't know if she imagined it. She freezes at the sound, her breathing speeding up as her mind conjures up all sorts of thoughts. A camera crew here to interrogate her as to why she's staying so late? A disgruntled Gamemaker? An avox seeking revenge against the Capitol? It's happened before, after all. The security at one in the morning is extremely lacklustre, and she's vulnerable as all hell. And if they got past the security guard at the front desk, the internal security system is down for maintenance for the next few days, too, so the camera in the corner of the room wouldn't catch the culprit.

"P, it's me." A familiar voice calls, and yet another sigh, this one of relief, escapes her. She stands up a little too quickly, and her chair flies backwards into the wall. "Are you okay in there?"

"I'm fine," she calls as she makes her way to the door, unlocking it. Her boyfriend steps in, pulling her into a hug before pressing a kiss to her forehead. They pull away and she takes a moment to actually process what's happening. "What are you doing here, Cal? It's the middle of the night. You've got work tomorrow."

He holds up a bag. "I thought I should come check on you," he says. "You didn't tell me you were staying late, so I got worried. Rex advised me to bring these. Besides, I fell asleep at like five. I'm more than well rested right now." He opens the bag so that she can see what's inside; a blanket and pillows. "Thought you might need them since it didn't seem like you were coming home."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" She asks, and even to her the tiredness in her voice is palpable. Callan glances down at her with a fond smile. "You're the best."

"I know," he says. He walks around her, heading towards the back of her office. "You're still filling out those forms?" He asks, one eyebrow raised as he glances down at her desk. "No offence, but I'm _so _glad you beat me to this job."

Parthenope shrugs, deflating slightly against the door frame once the novelty of seeing her boyfriend has worn off. "I've been filling them out for hours," she says. "But it's got to be done if we want to have mutts this year. _Good _mutts. I don't just want to be Parthenope Adresta Head Gamemaker for a year, I've got to be Parthenope Adresta the one hit gamemaking wonder, you know?" She doesn't know how much that's true, but it seems like the right thing to say.

Callan hums in agreement as he sets up the camp bed for her. "Get some sleep," he says once he's done. "You can barely speak, let alone write," she pouts at him even though what he's saying is true. "I'll be back in a few hours with coffee and clothes, alright? I just wanted to make sure that you weren't, like, dead or something."

She laughs. "I mean, that _would _be preferred right now..." she sits down on the edge of the camp bed. Callan glances at her worriedly. "I'm joking. It'll be fine. I've got a meeting next week to decide whether or not to extend my contact, and I'll ask to be demoted to something easier. I don't know, terrain design or something. Whatever you're doing next year. I'll be a sheep rather than the sheepdog."

"Sleep," Callan says. He looks at the clock. "P, you're leading the morning briefing in four and a half hours. The longer we talk the less sleep you get and the more cranky you'll be. I'd rather not get chewed out for my collar being wrinkled or something when I pop by later. Night. Or—early morning, I guess."

Parthenope watches her boyfriend leave, flicking off the light switch as he leaves. The sudden darkness causes the tiredness to fully catch up with her, and she falls backwards onto the pillows with fleeting thoughts of completing the paperwork still on her desk.

**— 8:00AM**

Parthenope sinks back onto her desk chair with a pounding headache. The lack of sleep last night as well as all of the problems raised at this morning's briefing isn't doing her any favours as she lets her head drop into her hands. She's tempted to cancel the appearance she has on TV later tonight; there's _plenty_ of time for her to deny rumours and tell people that she has to keep her mouth shut about arena designs in the run up to the Games. Every single interview is the same and whilst she can more than likely do it in her sleep, she doesn't want to test it out that badly.

The coffee that Callan had brought her this morning hadn't really done much for her. A temporary high of caffeine that she was now coming down from. Hard. The paperwork on her desk isn't any more appealing than it was last night and she's sure that the hands on the clock are moving at half of the speed that they usually do. She looks over her shoulder, back at the camp bed and she has to stop herself from throwing herself onto it and going right back to sleep. She's never been one to nap, but she guesses that her usual sleep habits will be out of the window for the next month or so until all of this work will finally pay off. Her duties will continue until next year, odd bits and bobs regarding the Victor and such, but the bulk of the work is almost done.

The end is so close she can almost taste the freedom and free time that she'll have. She craves the early mornings where she stays wrapped in her duvet for an hour or so after actually waking up, lazing around her and Callan's apartment with almost all the time in the world, eating meals with her boyfriend instead of in this damned office and just having the time to be herself. She's been burned out since she accepted the position and she just can't wait to recuperate.

Just two weeks until it really gets under way. In fact, around this time in two weeks the reapings for One will just be starting, with about thirty minutes for Two and an hour for Three. At 1:30PM two weeks from now, the last reaping will be starting. At 2:00PM in two weeks, all of ost of the tributes will be on the train to the Capitol, hurriedly begging for advice from their mentors and trying to make the most of the fleeting time that they have left. And boy can't Parthenope wait until only one of them is left.

She has no sympathy for the twenty-three of them that will be six feet under; that's what they get, but which ever one emerges from the arena alive will have her gratitude. As long as they play along nicely of course in the months leading up to, and during, their Victory tour. Once they'd addressed the districts and had their last Victor interview, she could finally resign and be happier than she's been in a long while. She'll pass on the role to whoever gets it next and take her demotion to the gamemaking team with no complaints.

Looking up, Parthenope realises that she's spent twenty minutes daydreaming about her release from this job. It doesn't bode well for the next few weeks, when things were going to really start getting crazy, but she tries not to think about that. It can go one of two ways; those weeks can be the highlight of her short-lived Head Gamemaking career, or they can be the worst. She's hoping for the former.

She looks down at her desk, and there's a moment of confusion when her eyes fall upon the stack of paperwork, the top sheet empty. That's... not right, she was almost done with this one before she fell asleep last night. Parthenope seizes a few of the papers from the bottom of the stack, marvelling at the blank sheets that she _knows _she filled out last night. Standing up, Parthenope seizes the handle of the top drawer in her desk and yanks it open. She grabs the papers in there, shuffling through them in case she's just freaking herself out for no reason. In case at some point she put out the filled sheets somewhere and has just forgotten. Pulling open the second drawer reveals a missing stack of designs, both for the mutts and the arena, and the third drawer down reveals that the person has taken the President's notes on what he wanted improved about the designs, too.

Parthenope's eyes start to well up with tears as her frantic search of her office reveals nothing. The papers are well and truly gone. All of the progress she made last night authorising the changes to the mutt designs was for nothing. Her mind racing, she glances up to the camera in the corner of her office only to see no blinking light. The system is down for maintenance, she remembers. Of _course_ it is.

But what is she supposed to do now? It's someone in this building that has taken them; it has to be. But he can't exactly go marching up to security and demand to see footage that doesn't exist, and she can't search people's lockers without raising suspicion. This is a _serious_ breach, and she doesn't know how the President is going to respond. For all she knows, it could end with a bullet through her head and a new Head Gamemaker reaping the rewards of her hard work. It's not uncommon for a Head Gamemaker to just disappear and be replaced in the run up to the Games after something has been leaked.

Trying to calm herself down, she falls back into her desk chair and pulls her phone from her pocket. After a quick scroll through the major news sites, it doesn't seem as if the documents have ended up in the public eye yet but that doesn't mean that they won't. Anything can happen.

There's a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realises the gravity of the situation. Her life depends on resolving this—literally—and dying for this job isn't an idea that Parthenope is exactly fond of.

What is she supposed to do? For once in her life she has no idea.

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**AN:** Hi! I'm In Writing and here is the first chapter of my new SYOT 'One Foot in the Grave'.

I'm new on the writing SYOT scene, but not so much the reading. I started reading them back in 2013 but stopped for a while once I thought I outgrew my Hunger Games phase. I'm insanely sorry if anyone here interacted with me back then, albeit this account was under a different name, but I promise in those seven years I have very much changed. Anyway, with my interest in the Hunger Games piqued again with the announcement of the sequel I thought that it would be the time for me to actually do what my fourteen-year-old self desired and actually start a SYOT. It might take some time, but I'm determined to finish this. I already have the Capitol plotline planned out and I am extremely excited to get it off the ground; I really hope you liked the beginning of it here. I'm _so_ ready to get this going!

The rules and form will be on my profile, but I want to make it clear that I will only accept PM submissions. Sorry guests.

Despite this, I really hope that this prologue has gripped you enough to submit, and I'd love to know your thoughts in the reviews.

Thanks for clicking on this and reading. I hope you all have a good night!

_-In Writing._


	2. Character Introductions I

**02 — Character Introductions I**

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**Amaldine Chisna (18) ****— 9:40AM  
District Twelve / Two weeks until Reaping Day**

"I can't give it to you! My mama's just had another baby! We're _already_ starving!" The little girl in front of her squeaks, her voice wavering as Amaldine backs her up against the wall of the alleyway. The excuse doesn't make Amaldine feel sorry for the girl; her family wasn't the only starving family in the district, after all. If they were, Amaldine wouldn't be doing this. Besides, the basket of bread and other assorted goodies hanging from the girl's arm doesn't scream that they had to scrounge around for loose change in order to afford to eat that week. The girl probably doesn't know the difference between being slightly hungry and actually starving.

She bends forward a little, getting into the girl's face. "That dress is probably worth two months of my pa's wages," she snarls. "You're giving me that basket whether you just hand it over or I take it by force." She goes to grab it, and the girl pulls away as best as she can given the tight space they're in. "Do you think I'm joking?" Amaldine seizes the girl's upper arm tightly. The girl whimpers. "Give it."

The girl's bottom lip trembles. "You're one of the nasty ones," she says, and Amaldine has to give it to her that she's brave, even if she looks as if she's on the verge of caving in. "My papa warned me about people like you."

"Cool. Glad to know whatever talk he gave you was effective." Amaldine rolls her eyes. "But I don't care what you think about me. You look like one of those spoiled brats up from the merchant's end, so your opinion is irrelevant. Now hand over the basket," she draws a fist back. "I don't take joy in it, but I'm not averse to punching little girls."

That seems to do the trick and the girl slides the basket from her arm, shoving it towards Amaldine who takes it with a grin. She steps backward, and the girl runs from the alleyway, screaming over her shoulder that she's going to alert the first peacekeeper that she sees. Amaldine laughs at that. If the peacekeepers scared her she wouldn't be cornering little girls in an alleyway, would she? It's not as if she hasn't been caught before. The public whipping isn't much of a deterrent at this stage; she's used to it, and although she's sore for a while after it doesn't completely wipe her out anymore. She can still steal baskets of food from merchant girls naive enough to enter the alleyways she beckons them into.

Like she said; she doesn't take joy in it but she's not going to stop doing it. It's better than risking her life down in those mines for abysmal wages. Maybe it doesn't make her popular with the others her age and maybe there are people who wish all sorts of unkind things on her when she's walking along the streets, but she's not starving and that's what matters. Her parents might get angry and say that she's a terror and they raised her better, but they eat the food that Amaldine steals all the same. It's that or starve.

With the basket hanging from the crook of her elbow, Amaldine emerges from the alleyway into the sticky heat of summer in District Twelve. Her dress flaps around her knees as a gentle breeze blows and, all things considered, it's a nice day. She strolls through the marketplace and all the way back to the Seam without being approached, so she assumes that the girl hasn't actually told anyone yet. Probably too scared to admit that she was scared by a shabby Seam kid. Oh, how Amaldine wishes she could be a fly on the wall to observe the conversation that would ensue when the girl turns up empty-handed with no money.

"_Again_?" Amaldine's ma asks, lips pursed and hands on her hips as Amaldine enters their small home and places the basket on the kitchen counter. "Dina, how many times do we have to tell you that you can't keep doing this?"

Amaldine shrugs. "I stopped listening three years ago," she mumbles as she sorts through the basket. "Maybe if you and pa didn't decide to have so many damn kids and mouths to feed then I wouldn't have to do this." She breaks off a bit of the loaf of bread, stuffing it into her mouth. "Besides, it's not as if I'm stealing from the kids around here. Half of 'em I steal shit from could do with being hungry for a few days anyway."

"I don't know where we went wrong with you, Dina, I really don't," her ma tuts. Amaldine rolls her eyes. "Put it all back into the basket and hand it in to the peacekeepers. Tell them you found it somewhere, I don't care. We're not doing this anymore."

"What do you mean you're not doing this anymore?" Amaldine demands, turning to face her ma. "Oh, so you're just going to let the boys starve because you want to pretend that you suddenly have morals?" She slams the cupboard door shut as she puts the bread away. "Some fucking mother you are."

Her ma's nostrils flare and that's when Amaldine knows that she's crossed a line. Still, she's not backing down. The food is hers now. She took it fair and square. If the girl really was starving and wanted to keep the food so badly then she would have put up more of a fight.

"You're unbelievable, Dina, you really are," her ma shakes her head. "Keep the food for yourself if you want to. But if I catch you giving _any _of it to your brothers then you're out. Your pa and I can manage to feed everyone with what we have. We have morals and as of now, we're sticking by them. This has gone on long enough. I'm not playing this game with you anymore; you're not helping anyone with what you do, you just enjoy taking things that aren't yours."

There's a stony silence in the kitchen once her mother finishes her tirade. Amaldine glowers at the older woman, hands clenching into fists as she has to bite her tongue as not to say something that she'll eventually regret. It's bullshit. Everything her ma said was bullshit. If their morals were so strong then they wouldn't have eaten all of the foods that Amaldine brought home on other occasions. It's too late to start giving a shit now. Besides, Amaldine wasn't wrong in taking it; that family more than likely had all the food they needed and more. Amaldine wasn't wrong. She's _never_ wrong.

Eventually, the silence is broken when Amaldine's youngest brother starts wailing in the next room, and her ma storms out to go and see what's wrong. Alone, Amaldine glares down at the scratched surface of the kitchen counter. She's not going to stop, she decides, it's better than starving. Better than going into those mines. It'll keep her fed, and if her parents want to be foolish then that's up to them. As soon as the reapings are over, she's moving out anyway. Into one of those one-bedroom shacks at the bottom of the Seam. She's sure she can find a relatively cheap one that one of the merchants are renting out. Better there than here.

One of her younger brothers, Jett, walks into the kitchen, eyeing her up before he runs the tap for a glass of water. "Ma says you need to stop getting into trouble, Dina," her says absentmindedly. He turns to face her, tilting his head to the side."Why can't you just take tesserae like me and Argon do? That helps _and _it's not illegal."

"You wouldn't understand," she snaps at him, shaking her head. "You're just a kid, you don't know anything. Tesserae doesn't help as much as what I do, I don't expect you to know much, you go to school in Twelve after all, but you should at least know that. You're risking your life for shit all and you're going to regret it when your name is pulled out one day."

Jett bristles. "Why are you always like this, Dina?" He asks. "You're always so mean for no reason!"

"Maybe I'm just sick of little boys acting like they know everything," she retorts. "Now get out and leave me alone."

She half expects Jett to argue, but he doesn't. He throws his empty cup into the sink and crosses the kitchen to his bedroom where he slams the door. Amaldine gets up from where she's sitting, just as her ma calls out and asks what's happening and quickly leaves the house so that she doesn't have to deal with whatever lecture her ma was going to try and give her now.

Amaldine just can't wait to finally live on her own. She can do what she wants then. And she's sure they'll all come crawling back to her when their cupboards are empty and their pay doesn't cover everything.

Yeah. They'll switch back to eating what she steals eventually. It's not a matter of if; more of when.

**Penelope Acosta (17) ****— 7:00PM  
District Eleven / Three days until Reaping Day**

Penelope pauses for a minute in the branches, wiping the sweat from her forehead as the sun beats down despite it being the evening. She doesn't take long, though, because below her she can see the peacekeepers patrolling and she'll be damned if today is her day to be one of those unfortunate ones to meet their demise at the end of a peacekeeper's gun. Too many go out that way due to stupid mistakes, and she's not going to be one of them. She can't be. Because if she doesn't go home then who's going to take care of everyone?

There's only another hour or so left of her shift, anyway, and she doesn't want to die after doing all this work. If it ends up being the way it goes, then she'd rather it be early in her shift because at least then they're not using her for as much unpaid labour. All of the workers are already criminally underpaid; she's not doing it for free. Or, if she does it'll be—literally—over her dead body. And maybe that's a grim thought to be having on a summery Friday evening, but it's not as if she has much to look forward to when her shift ends. Grumpy and tired parents with even more grumpy and tired kids. Going home isn't exactly a relaxing affair.

But she'll be glad to get out of this heat, even if it means listening to her sisters screaming at each other or her brothers whining that they're bored. It's not as if she's not used to it, and she knows that they'll all grow out of it eventually. Or, at least, she hopes so.

She works until the whistle signals that their shift is over, and shimmies down the trunk of the tree where she drops the apples she was carrying in the bucket. Smiling at her partner, a quiet girl she only vaguely knows, Penelope bends down to grab one handle of the basket whilst her partner grabs the other. Unsurprisingly, a bucket full of too many apples to count is very heavy.

"Good work," Penelope says breathlessly as they hand over the buckets to the peacekeepers and join the queue for their daily wages. "Today was hard."

"It was," the girl agrees, rocking back and forth as they wait. "You're good at reaching those top branches, I'll give you that."

"Thanks," Penelope smiles. "Years of practice, I guess. I've been up there every Summer since I was eight. Somehow manage it still, even though I've grown. I think I'd rather be on the ground, though. More shade."

The girl shrugs. "It's still hot down there," she says. "And sometimes your aim isn't so great when you chuck the apples down. I almost didn't catch a few," she gives a nervous giggle. "It was pretty stressful."

Penelope grimaces. Accidentally smashing an apple is a good way to end up with a whipping. God forbid you deprive the Capitol of any fraction of their produce. "I'll try work on that," she says. "Sorry."

"It's fine," the girl shrugs. "I'm Lemon, by the way."

"Penelope." She reaches out to shake Lemon's hand. "It was nice meeting and working with you. I hope we get to do it again."

"Yeah. Me too," Lemon grins as she reaches the front of the queue. She turns to talk to the peacekeeper, and Penelope distracts herself by watching the peacekeepers sifting through the buckets of apples that the workers were bringing to them, looking for any apples that weren't suitable to be shipped to the Capitol.

In an ideal world, those apples would be returned to the district and given to those who needed them. Penelope doesn't know exactly what happens to them once they're removed, but she knows that whatever it is they're probably wasted. Once in school, a boy loudly proclaimed that they just threw them out because they were greedy and if they didn't get them, no one could. She doesn't know who reported him, but someone must have because he wasn't in school for the next two weeks and when he returned he had only nice things to say about the Capitol. It was scary, and more than a little unnerving, and since then Penelope has been wise enough to keep her mouth shut about her views towards the Capitol. Even in her own house. In Panem you can never be too careful.

She waves goodbye to Lemon as the girl departs, and Penelope steps up to the desk. She states her name, her employee number, and the hours that she's worked. It takes way too long for the peacekeeper to take all of her information, but she tries to keep a neutral face. They've been in bad moods recently although Penelope doesn't know if she blames them; if she had to stand around in this heat wearing a whole suit like they have to, she'd be pretty grumpy too. Maybe not pull a trigger on anyone who frowns at me grumpy, but...

Penelope takes her wages with a quick thank you, leaving the orchard quickly. Her hands sting and her feet hurt and all she wants to do is eat and go to sleep. She can't do that straight away though; she has her responsibilities and if she goes to sleep then the kids won't get dinner and there's no way that she wants to deal with the terrors the lot of them will become if they have to go to bed on an empty stomach when they don't have to. It's different when there's nothing in the cupboards for them to eat but if there's food in there and they don't get it then there's hell to pay. Penelope doesn't want to take the risk of letting the kids wake up her parents.

Stopping at the market to grab a few things, Penelope manages to get pretty good deals on food that would have otherwise been thrown away.

She even cops some mince at the butchers. Her siblings will be excited about that because meat is something that they rarely ever get. Only when there's a decent deal on it.

"I'll give it ya for two coins," the butcher says, and Penelope's jaw almost open at that price. "Only 'cause it needs be cooked a'night and yas look like ya need it."

"Thank you!" She almost yells, handing over the two coins in exchange for the meat. "Thank you so much. You're going to make a bunch of kids happy, I'll tell you that!"

"Am glad," the butcher smiles. He leans over the counter. "You takes good care of 'em kids now. They's lucky to have someone who cares about 'em like you."

"Thank you, Mister," Penelope smiles. "Have a good night, and thanks again!"

She practically skips the way home. Today's shift might have been one of the most grueling in a while, but maybe this is a sign that things will start getting better. Or just a reward from whatever god is watching over her, rewarding her for her good luck. She doesn't know what she's going to make with the mince, but given what she bought at the market it might just have to be mince and veggies. Or maybe there's some rice in one of the cupboards.

A boring meal, maybe, but a filling one. Besides, the kids will be so caught up on the fact that they have meat to even worry about what the meal tastes like.

"Guess what I have?" She singsongs as she pushes open the front door, and all eight of the kids emerge from their various rooms to greet her. She pulls the meat from the bag to a chorus of gasps.

"How much did you pay for that, Penny?" Hazel asks.

"I bet it was a lot!" Juniper adds.

"You didn't spend _all _of your wages on it, right?" Violet has her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised. "Mom will be mad if you did."

"This whole thing was two coins," Penelope announces once everyone's quietened down. "So no, Vi, it wasn't all of my wages," she looks pointedly at Violet. "Now who wants to help me cook?"

To her delight, there is rice in tucked away in a cupboard and she washes it before setting it to boil. Azalea and Honey help her cook, and it's entertaining to watch them try and peel the vegetables. She helps them a little, but at seven and nine it's something that they should really be able to do by now. Either way, the meal is filling and she goes to be feeling as full as she has done in a while.

As she drifts off, all she can think about is the butcher. She's never really thought about how just one action can change an entire person's day.

It's a heartwarming thought to fall asleep to.

**Eirlys Kelley (12) ****— 7:30PM  
District Eight / Two days until Reaping Day**

Eirlys takes a run-up before she kicks the ball, sending it flying towards the alleyway that she and her friends are using as a goal. It soars over Georgia's left shoulder, and before Eirlys knows it Uriel is lifting her above his shoulders in celebration. She pumps a fist in the air once she's back on solid ground, running around her friends in a circle as she pretends that she's on live Capitol TV winning the soccer championships. Eirlys Kelley, youngest player ever, scoring the winning goal that will win her team the trophy and the grand prize of however much money is needed to buy her momma and poppa a new house where the roof doesn't leak, they all get their own beds, and the kitchen window isn't stuck open all the time.

"Good one, Eirlys," Geraldine grins, wrapping an arm around the smaller girl's shoulder as they take a water break and try to catch their breath. "There was no way Georgia could've saved that one."

"Thanks," Eirlys grins, flopping down onto the cobbled pavement as she takes a swig from her water bottle. Uriel flops down on her other side, still panting, and Georgia, Thomas and Olivia join them not long after, the group of them basking in the warm rays of sun.

She stares up at the kitchen window of their apartment, seeing a flicker of movement as either her momma or poppa walk past. She wishes that she could go out further, closer to Uriel's house where there's enough space to set up proper goalposts and have the proper two goalies instead of just one that both teams have to share. But her parents refuse to let her out of their sight, especially recently when the crimes in the district have been getting worse.

Eirlys doesn't understand why the people in Eight are so mean. Not only do they steal and hurt people, but Eirlys listens to what they say about others at the factory. She doesn't do too many shifts, can't with school in session, but the other girls there are rude. They laugh at her a lot for playing soccer. For living inside of her head all the time. For the friends that she has. Hell, the last time they went to Uriel's, Larissa, the daughter of the mayor, and her crew had cornered them. Stole the mostly deflated ball that they had been playing with. That was when Eirlys's parents put a stop to it. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and they said that it wouldn't be the last.

But maybe if Eirlys, Uriel, and the group just _talked _to Larissa, just got her to play one soccer match, Eirlys is convinced that it would change her mind. She's tried a couple of times in the school yard, but Larissa always tells her to get lost. Eirlys's poppa says she's naïve but Eirlys just likes to think that she's kind. Momma says that the girls being mean to her are only doing it because they're unhappy about themselves. Why wouldn't Eirlys try to cheer them up a little?

Almost as if she'd summoned them with her thoughts, Eirlys looks to her right to see Larissa and her crew approaching. This isn't good. If her parents see this, then she won't be allowed outside _at all._ She grabs the ball, tucking it under her arm as the others all get to their feet too, apprehensive as they watch the other group get closer and closer.

"Good luck for tomorrow," Larissa says, smiling. She glares at Eirlys, making the girl's skin start to crawl. "You'll need it."

_"Eirlys!" _The call makes them all jump, looking up to the broken kitchen window that her Momma is looking out of. "Get in right now. Geraldine, Georgia, and Thomas that includes you too. Your mommas want you home. Uriel and Olivia, you walk each other home, alright?" There's a pause. "And don't you nasty little girls try anything, or I'll tell _your_ mommas all that you've been doing!"

The girls' faces drop, and so does Eirlys's as she gathers up her things and storms into the stairwell of the apartment building. She watches as Uriel and Olivia go one way with Larissa and the others disappearing the way they came. She waves goodbye to Geraldine, Georgia, and Thomas as they enter their apartments on the bottom floor, and then takes the stairs up the seventh floor.

She drops her soccer ball by the door, kicking off her shoes as her momma appears at the end of the hallway.

"Why'd you do that?" She whines. "We were _fine. _We were gonna play another match, and I was gonna ask them if they wanted to play."

"I wasn't about to watch my little girl get bullied," her momma says. "That doesn't make me a bad person. Now go and wash your hands before dinner. It's almost ready, and you wouldn't've had time for another match anyway."

"If you didn't want to see it you should've just looked away from the window," Eirlys mutters under her breath, stomping down the hallway to the bathroom. Thankfully her momma doesn't hear. She washes her hands and takes a seat at the table between her older and younger brother. Dorcan smiles as he plays with his matchbox car, and Gethin just wrinkles his nose.

"You smell," he says. "Can't you go take a quick shower before we eat?"

Eirlys glowers, already in a bad mood. She kicks him hard under the table, retaliating when he kicks back. "You're fifteen," she snaps. "Act like it."

They stop when their momma tells them off, setting down bowls of watery soup with slices of stale bread. Gethin turns his nose up when she places it in front of him and Eirlys rolls his eyes as he starts to argue that this food isn't healthy for them. A few months ago he'd started hanging out with some of the richer kids at school, Larissa's older brother and the like, and he'd changed completely. He used to play soccer with Eirlys and the rest, making up the seventh member of their group. Three players on each team and a goalie. It was a perfect balance. Now they have to have a team of two and a team of three. It's frustrating sometimes.

When Eirlys gets to the Capitol championships, though, she'll be on a much bigger team. She'll get to play on an actual field. She's never seen a field in real life before; the only grass that she gets to see is the little clumps that sometimes sprout up from the cracks in the pavement, but she can already imagine what it will feel like to skid across as she celebrates her winning goal.

"Mom is it okay if I go to the reaping with Peter on Monday?" Gethin asks, pulling Eirlys out of her thoughts. She notices that he still hasn't touched his soup. "We'll meet at his house and go straight there."

Their momma shakes her head. "We're all going together," she says. "You know Reaping Day is a big deal, Gethin. Especially for people like us. Your friends don't have to worry that much. That morning might be the last day we're all together."

Gethin rolls his eyes. "You're being dramatic."

"Momma?" Dorcan speaks up. "What happens if you go into the Hunger Games?"

"You die." Eirlys cuts in without even thinking about it. Gethin kicks her under the table. She turns to him. "What? He's six. He needs to know." She turns back to her momma. "I'm right, aren't I? You do die. On TV."

"You are right," her momma nods, leaning across the table as their poppa distracts Dorcan with a joke. "But let's remember that Dorcan is only six, Eirlys. You didn't have to phrase it like that."

She apologises sheepishly, turning her attention back down to her soup. There's a tug on her sleeve, and she looks down at her younger brother who looks up at her with his big brown eyes. "Are you going to die when you're on TV?"

Eirlys shakes her head with a loud laugh. "No, Dorc," she says, and his face lights up. "I'll be on TV for soccer. That's different."

Gethin huffs from beside her, looking between their parents. "Right. We've told Dorcan that you die in the Hunger Games already, I've been told that I can't be with my friends on Monday morning because mom's being dramatic," he says. "So, which one of you is going to tell Eirlys that she's not going to get on TV with her subpar soccer skills?"

"You're just jealous," Eirlys retorts, kicking him under the table one more time. "But that's okay. You don't get to move into the house that I buy Momma and Poppa with the prize money."

That seems to do it for Gethin, and he gets up from his seat, storming out of the room. They eat the rest of their meal in silence, even Dorcan.

When Eirlys settles down in front of the TV once everything is washed up, dried and put away, she wonders if maybe Gethin is right. She watches the Capitol women on screen with a longing in her heart. But there have been players from the districts before. Maybe not District Eight, but if Eirlys is going to break the record for the youngest player ever, then it wouldn't hurt if she was the first player from Eight, either.

Uriel, Georgia, Geraldine, Thomas, and Olivia already believe in her. Dorcan, too. She doesn't know what her parents think about it, they always go quiet when she mentions it, but even without their support, Gethin is outnumbered anyway.

She doesn't need her brother to support her when she supports herself. She'll get to the Capitol one day. Mark her words.

* * *

**AN: **Hey! In Writing here with the first set of tribute introductions!

Yeah, it's 2AM but I'm a third year university student with no lectures before 12PM any day of the week, so there's no way I have a normal sleep schedule. I'm super excited to finally get the ball rolling with these lovely tributes that have been submitted so far, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

There will be eight chapters of tribute intros before a reaping recap. I'm yet to decide how exactly I want to structure said recap, but I have a while to plan that out so it'll work out fine. As it stands, I'll be doing three intros a chapter. I haven't yet decided on who I'm going to have in the next chapter but as soon as I'm decided they'll be on my profile beside the POVs completed.

Please let me know what you thought of these tributes, who your favourite tribute is and who your least favourite is. I'm curious to know!

Thank you to TakeTheCrown for Amaldine, Errabundus for Penelope and Acaronar for Eirlys. I hope that I have done them justice, and if you have any concerns about their portrayal just PM me!

Also, I was thinking of setting up a Discord server for this story if that was something people are interested in? I'm on Discord a lot, and it's probably the best way to reach me, since I tend to miss PMs for a while unless I'm actively on the site. I also thought that it might be cool for you readers to interact as well. Just let me know if this is something you'd want to join and I'll see about setting one up. I don't know much about setting up servers but I'm sure it can't be _too_ hard. I'll manage somehow. **(update: I have bitten the bullet and created one** **— link is on my profile)!**

Whew, this AN is long!

Anyway. Thank you, everyone, for reading, I'm going to head to bed now. I hope that you all have/have had a good day! See you with the next chapter whenever that shall be!

_-In Writing. _

P.S: Why is there such a discrepancy between the word count on Word and the word count in doc manager? Somehow in the process of copy and pasting this from my word document I gained a whole 400 words (the Word count was around 4,500 whereas in doc manager it was around 4,900 before this note). Not an issue but just weird.  
P.P.S: Technically every spot in this SYOT is taken (crazy!), but I'm still going to keep the status as open whilst there are pending reservations as it is possible for people to drop out and not submit!


	3. Character Introductions II

**03 ****— ****Character introductions II**

* * *

**Cypress Hurley (14)** **—** **6:00AM  
District Seven / A month until Reaping Day**

The first thing that Cypress is aware of is a sticky hand on his cheek, and the second thing that he's aware of is the loud giggle of his youngest brother and the quiet laugh of his oldest sister. He opens one eye lazily to see Bodhi staring at him, pushing himself onto his eyebrows to see Marlowe smirking. He presses a hand to his sticky cheek, grimacing as he pulls it away.

"What the hell even is that?" He groans, looking around frantically for something to wipe his hand on. The only thing that would work is his bedsheets, but he's not taking the chance of having his mom yell at him for it.

"Jam," Marlowe says. Cypress glares at her. "Bodhi wanted to wake you up before I cleaned him off, so bad luck bud. Mom says you deserve it for being lazy and sleeping in. You were supposed to be up half an hour ago to help her set things up. Good job I stepped in to take care of the kids so she could run off to the café, huh?"

"You slept in yesterday," Cypress points out with a huff. "But I'm going to take longer getting ready now that I'm going to have to scrub the jam from my cheek, so you shot yourself in the foot there."

Marlowe laughs. "Maybe," she shrugs. "But it's slightly funny, you've got to admit."

Cypress shrugs. "I guess it is a little funny," he turns to Bodhi who reaches out for his face again. Leaning backwards, Cypress shakes his head. "If only you weren't so damn cute, I'd have an easier time being mad, huh?"

Bodhi only babbles, but Marlowe picks him up before he can get the remaining jam on his hand anywhere else. She leaves the room, leaving Cypress to get up, and it takes him a few more minutes to muster the willpower to roll out of bed and start getting ready. His first trip is to the bathroom, where he brushes his teeth and washes his face in order to get rid of the jam Bodhi so lovingly smeared on his cheek. Then, he gets dressed, pulling on a casual outfit before grabbing a slice of leftover toast from one of the kids' plates on the kitchen counter.

Marlowe waves him off as he leaves the house, and before he sets off jogging, he also waves goodbye to the younger ones in the window. He loves all of them, of course he does, but he's glad that he's not the one trying to wrestle the three of them for the day. He and Marlowe rotate; one day with the kids, one day at the café, and he's sure that even with just those days he's going to end up going grey pretty soon. They're fun to hang around with until they decide that they're going to refuse lunch or all start hitting each other. Cypress is sure that he's aged a few years at least whilst looking after them, but it's a good price to pay for his mom's happiness.

She runs one of the only cafés in District Seven, a quaint little building that his mom absolutely adores. But with his dad away at one of the logging compounds on the outskirts for most weeks of the year, and the number of people turning there for jobs, his mom has started to need help. He and Marlowe were happy to volunteer. She pays them, of course, and it's so much better than having to drop out of school and go and chop down trees for a living. He does a few hours in the morning, goes to school, and then does a few hours once school lets out. Or, if he's babysitting, he watches them, drops them off at the neighbours, goes to school and then picks them up.

Sometimes it's overwhelming to never get a break, but he doesn't mind too much. It is what it is, after all, and he has it _so _much better than some of the other kids in the district, that's for sure. At least he wasn't forced over to the compounds at 10 or under and forced to work doing all of the little jobs that the adults didn't want to do. At least he was still able to see his friends, see his family, and go to school.

"I'm here, Mom," he announces as he walks into the café. She looks up from where she's setting a table and shakes her head at him.

"Glad you finally woke up and joined," she jokes. "Can you finish setting up this section whilst I start preparing some of the food? Leandra and Elowen should be here soon to help you, and you know that Mr. Finch is going to be here at 7 on the dot so make sure that his table is ready, okay?"

Cypress nods. Mr. Finch appears every day at 7, sitting at the same table and ordering the same food and drink. His mom says that he's lonely, which Cypress finds sad, and he always goes out of his way to talk to the man before he dashes off to school. The café has a lot of regulars, practically keeping the business afloat, but Mr. Finch is by far Cypress's favourite. And not only because he can do the coolest magic tricks in the whole of the district, although that's definitely a plus.

He sets about doing what his mom asked after shoving his rucksack behind the counter. Leandra and Elowen appear shortly after, the only other two members of staff, and they're a lot older than him but very nice. As a trio, they have the tables set (including Mr. Finch's) in just under ten minutes and he lazes about behind the counter until his mom flips the sign on the door to open, ten minutes early since there was a queue forming, and he's forced to start taking people's orders and bring out their food.

He's so busy that he misses Elowen seating Mr. Finch and taking his order, not noticing the older man until he's tasked with sweeping the section he's sitting in once the initial breakfast rush has settled down. Whilst the prices aren't exactly high, Cypress is still amazed at the number of people that come out most mornings.

"I was wondering when you would come to talk to me," the man smiles as Cypress drops into the seat opposite him, leaning forward on the table. "Elbows off the table, young man."

Cypress feels his cheeks heating up at the rebuke, sitting up straight and dropping his arms to his side. "Sorry I didn't come earlier. It's been a busy morning."

"Well I can see that," the man laughs, throwing his head back. Cypress doesn't think that it's that funny, but he laughs along anyway. "Say. What's that on your cheek?"

He pulls one of the napkins out of the dispensers and wipes at Cypress's cheek. It comes away slightly red, and Cypress is sure that it's the colour that his face is turning right now as he realises that he hadn't managed to get all of Bodhi's jam off this morning. He looks fleeting towards the three older women working. Why didn't they tell him?

"It's fine," Mr. Finch says with a knowing smile. "Not all of us can be clean eaters."

"No—uh it was… um, my younger brother… he… he woke me up by uh—" Cypress stumbles over his words, taking a deep breath before he starts again. "My younger brother, Bodhi… well, Marlowe thought it would be a good idea for him to wake me up by putting jam on my cheek. I thought that I got it all off this morning, but I guess not."

"As I said, young man, it's fine," Mr. Finch says. "I'm just glad you're here. Marlowe never speaks to me for as long as you do. She's always busy, busy, busy. Typical teenager, I guess. I hope you won't start going that way."

"No, sir," he shakes his head. "I'll talk to you for as long as I can," he checks his watch. "I have twenty minutes before I have to leave for school. Is that long enough? I'm sure Mom won't mind me being a little late."

"That's just fine, kid," Mr. Finch says. "That's just fine."

And so the older man talks and Cypress just listens. Mr. Finch talks about everything and anything; his new neighbours, his ex-wife, his kids all grown up and fleeing the nest. He shows Cypress a new magic trick, one with cards this time, and it's honestly his favourite time of the day. He doesn't like it when he has to leave for school, tries to dig his heels in as his mom hands him his backpack and tells him to get a move on.

Cypress just hopes that he never ends up as lonely as Mr. Finch. It doesn't sound fun, having to come to a café every day just to talk to other people. He knows it's unlikely; his mom always says that she had so many kids for a reason, but there's a lingering fear in the back of his mind as he joins up with his friends. It's a bit drastic, but he thinks he'd rather be dead than so lonely.

**Carson Ford (14) ****— 8:00AM  
District Six / Two weeks until Reaping Day**

Carson is bored. He's bored and there is _so _much more that he could be doing with his time than waiting for Marco to pick out the shirt that he wants to wear to the reaping. He doesn't know why he's even buying a new one; he has more than enough at home, but he was insistent that before they went off to school he should look for a new shirt.

"We're going to be late," Carson reminds his friend as he hovers behind him, wrinkling his nose at the shirt that Marco holds up. "No. That looks horrendous. Hurry up. We're going to be late."

"Chill a little, Carson," Marco laughs, hanging the shirt back on the rack. "They're not going to care whether we're late or not. It's fine."

Carson huffs, but he doesn't argue further. It's not worth risking an argument in public for the sake of getting to school on time, although if they hadn't taken this detour then they could've been within their class right now looking over yesterday's homework assignment. If they leave now, he realises, glancing at the clock on the wall, then they will still get there on time, but Marco's turned back to examining the shirts. Carson debates whether or not it's worth just walking to school on his own, but he quickly refutes the, admittedly, stupid idea. It's not wise for anyone to walk the streets of Six alone, let alone a fourteen year old boy. He'd be vulnerable. It's just not worth it.

Eventually, Marco turns to him. "Want to just come back later?" He asks. "I can't decide, and like you said, we'll be late if we stay much longer."

"We're already late," Carson deadpans, but Marco just shrugs and grabs Carson's wrist, dragging him from the shop with a quick goodbye to the shopkeeper. "Besides, don't you have enough shirts? It's just a reaping, it's not anything special."

"I just want a new one, that's all," Marco shrugs. "Mom has enough money to let me buy a new one, so, why not? Do you even know how many girls are going to be there?"

"Every girl in the district will be there."

"Exactly," Marco says. "And who do you think they're going to go for? Someone with a boring shirt, or someone with a cool one?"

Carson raises his eyebrows. "I don't think shirts are the be all end all of dating, Marco. You've actually got to have a good personality to get a girlfriend, you know?"

"You're an ass."

Carson shrugs, smiling slightly. "I'm just telling it as it is."

They reach the school only fifteen minutes late, which Carson counts as a miracle, although it's a little embarrassing to walk into the class and have everyone stare at them, waiting for an excuse. He lets Marco explain why they were late, lying that he overslept, and Carson was late because he waited for him to get ready so that he didn't have to walk alone. Once they've both apologised they're allowed to take their seats and they do, but being late means that they have to split up and sit on opposite sides of the room.

If Marco hadn't taken forever, they could've grabbed their favourite two seats next to the window in the back two rows, one in front of the other. But no. Apparently that was the lowest propriety besides wasting time looking for a shirt that he didn't even end up buying. It's fine, though, because Carson is sure that he can get back to Marco somehow. Revenge has never been his kind of thing, but as long as it's just inconvenient and not hurtful, it doesn't really matter.

"Do you want to come to mine after school today?" He asks Marco between classes, hugging his science textbook to his chest as they manoeuvre the packed halls. "My dad won't be home until after dinner, and he'd rather I wasn't home alone. I figure we can get a head start on next week's homework or something?"

"After I pick out my shirt?"

"Yeah. Sure, I guess." Carson pushes open the door to their science classroom, holding it open for Marco.

"Sweet. Although since when did you become a nerd? What happened to leaving all of your homework to the last minute despite telling me to get it done as soon as possible?" Marco asks, one eyebrow raised as they take their seats.

"You know I'm no good at taking my own advice," Carson laughs. "I just thought that maybe it isn't worth the stress, you know? We don't have to. I'm sure we can find something else to do. I mean… my dad can't get mad at us for watching too much TV if he's not there."

The school day drags on as it usually does, and Carson is glad by the time that they finally get out of school. Marco walks ahead, babbling on about a shirt that he saw just as they were leaving the shop that he wants to try out. Carson nods along, but he's not really listening. He loves Marco, and the boy is a good friend, but sometimes he's just slightly exhausting. Especially on the days when their school schedules match up and they're together all day.

They end up back in the same shop, but Marco can't remember where he saw the shirt. Again, albeit impatiently, Carson waits. And waits. And waits. And eventually they leave empty-handed because the shirt wasn't how Marco remembered it, and they didn't have it in his size anyway. The pair of them end up at the market, where Carson slips off his backpack and puts it back on so that it's resting on his chest rather than his back.

In crowds like these you can never be too careful, after all. He's had his things stolen from his backpack plenty of times before, and he's finally learned his lesson. Marco laughs at him for it at first, but quickly follows suit as the market packs up with more and more people, kids getting out of school and adults on their breaks alike. Most of them buy food, and Carson is half tempted too as well, but he doesn't want to leave Marco on his own whilst he's distracted.

On the third stall, Carson is more than willing to go home. He's bored again, and they could be watching TV or working on homework right now rather than traipsing through the marketplace in search of this elusive shirt that Marco wants to find. Carson is starting to think that he doesn't actually want a shirt, that it's just an excuse to wind him up or something. Not that he really thinks that it's something that Marco would do on purpose, but surely, he can tell by now that Carson is just getting antsier and antsier.

"Finally!" He exclaims, pumping a fist into the air with quickly fleeting excitement when Marco finds the shirt that he wants to wear two weeks from now. It's rather plain; looks just like any other shirt, but Carson isn't exactly about to complain when his friend has made up his mind. "Although with all of that searching, you'd better be wearing it everywhere."

"Hm. Maybe," Marco hums, shrugging as they push through the crowds to head to Carson's house. "It's a little too fancy to wear to school though, and other than your house that's pretty much the only place I actually go."

"Well then wear it to my house," Carson shrugs. "I'm sure my dad will love it."

"He will," Marco nods. "Mr. R.J is a lot better at making people feel better about themselves than you are, that's for sure."

"Hey! I'm just honest." Carson hits him playfully. "You know that you love me really, or else you wouldn't keep coming to me for advice."

Marco shrugs. "Sometimes you're the only person who will listen, you know?" He sticks his tongue out. "Beggars can't be choosers, after all."

Carson unlocks his front door, kicking off his shoes as soon as they step inside. "I dunno," he says. "You took an awfully long time choosing that shirt."

Marco flips him off before racing into the living room to get to the TV first so he can choose what they watch. The Capitol-led action film is a warm welcome from the crappy soap operas that are usually playing, and so Carson doesn't complain as the film rolls on.

He wonders what it's like to be an actor. To have everything chosen for you the moment you roll out of bed; your schedule, your makeup, your clothes. He'd be good at that, he thinks. Well, planning someone else's day (he doesn't think he could ever be famous). He does give good advice, after all, or everyone tells him he does. Carson just wishes that he was as good at taking his advice as he is at giving it out.

**Kieron Dale (18) — 4:00PM  
District One / Six months until Reaping Day**

He sits on the bleachers, sandwiched between his twin brother Cameron, and Jason Farley, the kid of a family friend who he has to pretend to interact with to make their mom's happy. Jason stares straight ahead, whilst Cameron is talking with the person next to him. He's always been better at making friends than Kieron has.

They're waiting to hear the announcement for the chosen volunteers in this year's Games. It's a nerve-wracking experience, now that Kieron is sat in the section for hopefuls and not for the students who are just interested in seeing what tributes could potentially bring them glory. He's worked hard for this; harder than he's ever worked at anything in his life, and he's never been one to brag but he thinks that he has this in the bag. The tests were the best he's ever performed, and he knows that the trainers have been taking notice of the extra time he's been spending at the academy. He does his homeschooling as quickly as his mom will allow him to fit in extra time, and he's here every weekend without fail.

He's here when the gyms stand empty as people are taking breaks. He's here no matter what the weather is outside; whether it's raining and he has to wade through floodwaters, or if it's snowing and he has to trudge through that. Cameron's here a lot, too, but The Academy doesn't exactly place much emphasis on a proper education. That's where a lot of the trainees fall down; in a way, Kieron guesses, they're setting some of the kids up for failure. How are they supposed to ace the academic quizzes when they're not really taught how to? It's all well and good claiming that the chosen tribute needs to be smart as well as strong, but only if you actually teach both sides.

Kieron has his homeschooling. He's hoping that that puts him in better stead than the others. Maybe he doesn't get as much training time in as his brother who elected not to be homeschooled and to enroll full time into The Academy, but he knows more. Academically. And that's not to knock down his brother; Cameron is smart, too, but Kieron has a one-up technically. He needs it.

"Are you nervous?" Cameron pulls him out of his thoughts with a tap on his shoulder. Kieron just shrugs. "I am."

"I mean, I am," Kieron says. In fact, he's pretty much terrified—what is he supposed to be if not a Victor?—but he doesn't want to admit that to Cameron however close they are. "But it's… it'll be fine, whatever happens."

"Yeah," Cameron nods, and Kieron looks down to see that his brother is tapping his feet. "Yeah. It will."

"You've been in the top three volunteers since you were fifteen," Kieron tries to reassure him. "You'll be fine." And, selfishly, it's something that he hopes isn't true, but that thought fills him with guilt so he tries to push it away as Cameron takes a deep breath.

"I've never been _on _top though," he says. "And I don't know what I'm supposed to do if I'm not this time. I've been waiting for this my entire life."

And beside Kieron, Jason inhales sharply. No doubt put off by the conversation between them. Kieron understands. It's hard to pit twin against twin, especially when the two of them have been working for this their entire lives. Kieron can't even imagine what his parents are doing right now; probably biting their nails into stubs waiting for the boys to come back. Either they have two disappointed kids, or one elated son and another bitterly disappointed. Kieron doesn't know what one is better.

He supposes the first. Usually, the families of those picked throw celebrations parties and make as big a deal out of it as they can. How are they meant to do that without rubbing it in the losing brother's face? Not intentionally of course, and neither of them would ever stop or try and sabotage the parties just because they lost, but it's definitely something that will sting. Kieron feels awful for it, but he hopes that it's Cameron in that position and not him. As they're sitting there he finds himself praying to a god that he doesn't even believe in.

_Just let me be first for once. Just let me be first for once. Please. Let me be the last name they read out. I deserve this. I've worked so hard_.

He just wants the honour. He doesn't really care so much about the glory, or the fame. He just wants to bring his district the honour that they deserve. He wants to be able to prove to his kids and grandkids that he fulfilled his purpose; that he went into the Hunger Games and lived to tell the tale. He wants his family name to be elevated higher than it already is. It's not about one-upping Cameron, it's not about wanting to be loved. The honour. That's all he cares about. Really, it is.

Kieron is pulled out of his thoughts once more by his brother, an elbow digging deep into his side as the gym doors swing open and the male head trainer walks in, a clipboard tucked underneath his arm as he takes to the podium in the centre of the gym. He takes a minute to situate himself before he gazes around the gym. When he makes eye contact with Kieron he smiles, and that's enough to make Kieron's heart leap. He holds his breath, leaning slightly forward as the man starts to speak.

Never in his life has he been as invested in what someone has to say.

"Welcome, everyone," the trainer begins, eyes downcast on the piece of paper he's holding. "I don't think I need to state why we're all here, because it's pretty clear. This is the biggest event in The Academy every year, and there's no point in me explaining it.

"Before I read out the names on this list, I just want to congratulate each and every one of you who gave it your all this year. I have to say that this year has been one of the best we've had for test scores, and everyone deserves to give themselves a pat on that back for everything that they've achieved in their time here.

It's inevitable that most of you in this room will be disappointed. I just ask that you do not take it out on those who have trained you, or on the lucky individual who gained this spot. Remember that your life isn't over just because you don't go into the Games. There are so many avenues for you to explore here in One. I urge you to consider joining the workforce here and being a trainer; we have so many opportunities to shape young lives. You might be disappointed now, but you'll be swelling with pride when, in a few years, that shy twelve year old you helped grows up to become a Victor—"

"Get on with it!" Someone heckles, cutting him off. It isn't something that Kieron would usually find funny, but as laughs ripple around the gym, he joins in. Both Cameron and Jason are laughing beside him, and it's a welcome change from the thick tension that was smothering the room before.

"Right. Yes," the head trainer says after managing to gain control of the room once more. The atmosphere switches so quickly that Kieron finds himself wondering if they really were just laughing together or whether he'd imagined it.

"District One's male third place volunteer, designated to volunteer if the other two candidates are unable to fulfill their role is," he pauses for what Kieron assumes is dramatic effect, but just raises the tension in the room tenfold. "Lucretius Glos!"

There's a scattered round of applause at the announcement. The boy, who Kieron doesn't really know too well, stands up and bows. Kieron can see the disappointment written over his face but, to his credit, he smiles despite the tears in his eyes and shouts a wavering thank you down to the head trainer.

Once things are calmer, the head trainer starts to speak again. "District One's male reserve tribute is," he pauses once again. Cameron grabs Kieron's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Kieron Dale."

It feels as if someone has punched Kieron in the chest, taking all of the air out of his lungs as he processes his defeat. No. No. It can't be. He _can't _be second. He was supposed to be first. He was supposed to be on top.

He forces himself to stand up, to take his bow, and he understands the tears in Lucretius's eyes. When he sits back down, Cameron whispers something into his ear, more than likely something reassuring, but Kieron can't focus on it.

Cameron's got in in the bag now. He knows it. Kieron knows it. Everyone in the room knows it.

And sure enough, it's Cameron's name that leaves the head trainers mouth when announcing the chosen volunteer. Beside him, Cameron jumps to his feet as the room fills with deafening applause. Kieron stands, trying to smile through as he congratulates his brother.

Second. Kieron came _second. _But he can't stay second. He's not going to bring his district honour with any other job but Victor.

He has six months. Six months to find himself a way to get onto that stage without breaking his brother's heart.

Kieron has a feeling that's going to be harder than he thinks.

* * *

**A/N:** Whew! Another chapter, another early morning upload. It's just gone 3AM, but I got a sudden burst of motivation for this chapter at around 10PM and I didn't want to go to bed with it unfinished because I had so many ideas swirling around in my head. I can't promise that the other chapters will come this fast, especially not this week since I have a few deadlines and stuff, but I'll try my best to get them out as soon as I possibly can.

As mentioned in the updated author's note of the last chapter; this story now has a Discord server! The link is on my profile, and I'd love for you guys to join since it's pretty lonely in there right now. I thought it would be a pretty cool idea, and enable you guys to talk about the story together and also get in contact with me quicker.

Again, I'd love to know your thoughts on these characters! It wasn't my intention to have chapters all of one gender, but that's what the random picker wanted and so here we are. I might keep it for continuities sake, or maybe mix it up a little. We shall see. Thank you to Acaronar for Cypress, Tyquavis for Carson and IIJamesII for Kieron. They were all an absolute blast to write, and I hope you're happy with how I presented them!

A quick reminder that a lot of reservations expire today (the 29th) so be sure to get your tributes in before I reopen the spot! Just let me know if you need extra time; that's no problem, but I need to know.

Anyway, I am going to collapse into bed now so I will see you all in the next chapter. Thank you for reading. I hope you all have a good day/afternoon/evening/night.

_-In Writing._


	4. Character Introductions III

**04 - Character Introductions III**

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**Gracelynn Keso (17) — 4:00PM  
District Five / Two weeks until Reaping Day**

"Do you want to go on a walk with me?" Gracelynn asks her best friend, already slipping her shoes on as she stands by the door. "It's the perfect weather," she pouts as Lucie doesn't respond, only looking at her with an eyebrow raised from her position on the couch. "Oh come on, we've been inside all day. You're really want to spend an entire day in here? Cooped up with nothing to do?"

Lucie smiles slightly, shaking her head. "I'll go," she says, sitting up. "Just give me a minute. Not everyone shares your enthusiasm for the outdoors, Gracie."

"They should," Gracelynn shrugs. "And just because most of the others in Five are hermits it doesn't mean that we should be. Vitamin D is good for us, Luce. I know they taught you that in school. I was sat beside you."

Lucie laughs at that, finally getting up and grabbing her shoes from the pile by the door. She puts them on, and they bid goodbye to Lucie's mom before they leave. Gracelynn feels better almost instantly as the warm rays of sun hit her skin and she looks up towards the blue sky. It's not often that they get this in Five, and it's worth savouring when they do. Not that it really matters what whether it is outside; if she wants to go on a walk then she'll go on one whether it's sunny like it is today or in the middle of a blizzard. It's just nicer when there's good weather, that's all.

"We'll go to the outskirts," she says as they start walking, squinting in the bright light.

"We should have brought food," Lucie says absentmindedly. "Could've had a little picnic."

Gracelynn's eyes light up. "Let's do it!" She says excitedly, turning back. "I don't know what your mom has in the cupboards, but I'm sure that we can scrounge up something."

Half an hour later they're at the outskirts—thankfully they don't live too far from them, or Gracelynn thinks that she might have gone crazy by now—and they settle down on the thin patch of grass that surrounds their district. It's not much, and her heart aches for the green pastures that she sees in the school textbooks talking about District Ten, or the orchards in Eleven. The grain fields in Nine don't look too fun to sit in, but Gracelynn would definitely take them over this. But she supposes that it's enough. At least she's not in Eight where most of the kids have probably never seen a blade of grass in their life. She's seen the pictures in the textbooks; it's a dull place, duller than Three even. She couldn't imagine living there. It's no wonder that the tributes from there always seem so miserable when they're on TV. Well, that and that they're heading into a deathmatch.

Lucie spreads out the picnic blanket after a while of the two of them just laying there, staring up at the sky. There's a gentle breeze that ruffles their hair, and Gracelynn grins as she shifts onto the blanket and Lucie unpacks the food they'd brought with them. It isn't much but Gracelynn can't complain, not when her family took her in after her mom kicked her out. Not when they've treated her like one of their own, showing Gracelynn that there is good in the world. Even when your own family doesn't love you.

She reaches for her sandwich, leaning back on one elbow as she takes a bite and looks at the clouds that are starting to drift across the sky. It's weirdly quiet here, she thinks, for a day as nice as this, but with Reaping Day approaching she supposes that families are just trying to power through. Get in those extra hours so they don't lose money having to take Reaping Day off.

"Doesn't it bother you that no matter where you go in this district all you can hear is the power?" Lucie asks quietly. "Like, we just can't get away from it. All you hear is either the water from the damn or the humming noises from the plants. It's—I wish that they could just generate power quietly, you know? So that we can just go about our day and not have to listen to it."

"Mm, not really," Gracelynn hums. "You can tune the humming out easily," she pauses, listening for the faint rushing of water from the dam. "I just like to pretend that the dam is a waterfall. I mean… it kind of is. Just a man-made one."

"I guess," Lucie shrugs. "But still. Do you think it's noisy in the other districts?"

"Six would be," Gracelynn says. "It has to be with all those trains. Maybe Ten, too, with all of the animals."

"But Ten would be nice with all of the open space," Lucie says. "And Nine."

"I bet there's a hell of a lot of peacekeepers in those districts, though," Gracelynn says. She reaches forward to take a celery stick. "To make sure that they don't steal anything. I mean, there's a ton here, and we can't steal power."

"Those kids you see everywhere do a good job of stealing everything else, though," Lucie laughs. "It's kind of sad. But I bet it's worse in those districts. I mean, they're growing fruit and grain and animals and there's still people starving. It's messed up. Can you imagine having to work in an orchard on an empty stomach?"

"Yeah. True," Gracelynn murmurs. Maybe living in the other districts wouldn't be that great. They have the open space, but… not much else. "But then it's almost like that here. The Sticks doesn't have electricity yet and we _generate _it."

Even though Five is one of the richer districts, they still have their fair share of poverty. Gracelynn's lucky' neither her biological family, nor her sort-of-adoptive family are poor. Neither are extremely well off, not like some of the power plant owners, but she's never gone to bed hungry and that's something that she's sure a lot of the kids in the lower districts can't say. Maybe there wasn't a lot of love in her family growing up, but she found it in other places, and Lucie and her mom have never been anything but kind to her. So, she hasn't had it that bad. Ever.

"We should probably head back soon, Gracie," Lucie says. They finished their food a few minutes ago. "We've got school tomorrow, and I haven't finished my homework. I'd rather not be up too late tonight. I'm tired enough."

Gracelynn hums in agreement, but she doesn't move from her position, hands behind her head as she lays on her back and stares up. It's weird to think that the sky stretches across all of the districts, that she's looking up at the same sky that those in One and those in Twelve are looking at, too. She wonders if it's warm everywhere right now. If others are doing just what she and Lucie are doing and taking in the rays. But it could be raining somewhere else, cold even though it's summer. Across all of the districts, there has to be at least one person, if not hundreds or thousands, looking up right now. Kids spotting out shapes in the clouds, adults squinting at the bright sun.

She hopes that they're all doing okay. It's weird to think that her day has been relatively uneventful until now, just her and Lucie and Penny in the house doing their own things, but for so many across the entirety of Panem it could have been one of the worst days that they've ever experienced. Gracelynn hopes that it's not many, but this is Panem after all. They have it pretty lucky in Five, but it's not always sunshine and rainbows, and it's probably worse in other districts. Well, she knows that it is based on what she's seen on TV and read about in school.

"Gracie." Lucie snaps her fingers in front of Gracelynn's face, pulling the girl out of her thoughts as she sits up. "We should probably head back," she repeats. "Can you help me fold up the blanket?"

"Yeah, sure," Gracelynn nods. She stands up, helping Lucy stuff the blanket inside the basket. "I'll carry it back," she says. "You carried it here, it's only fair."

The pair of them make their way back to Lucie's house, kicking off their shoes by the door. Gracelynn heads to their bedroom, settling down on her bed with a book whilst Lucie sits cross-legged on the floor doing her homework.

"We're lucky, don't you think?" She says absentmindedly. "That we're in Five."

Lucie shrugs her shoulders. "I guess so. Depends who you ask, though."

"I'm asking you." Gracelynn turns to the window, gazing out.

"And I said I guess so," Lucie retorts. "What about you?"

"Yeah, I think we're lucky," Gracelynn says. "Maybe not as lucky as One or Two, but we're up there. This district isn't _too _bad."

At least it isn't for them. She's sure she could find a lot of people who disagree with her if she wanted to, though. But not everyone is going to be happy with what they get in life. That's just how things work.

**Desdemona Archibald (18) — 5:00 PM  
District Two / Seven months until Reaping Day**

They should have known better than to dare her to do something.

"I bet you couldn't steal something really valuable." The boy had dared her, eyebrows raised, arms crossed over his chest. She's never been too interested in taking part in the annual scavenger hunt, something that should have only been for the younger recruits in her opinion, but as soon as thosee words left that boy's mouth Desdemona knew that it would consume the next hour. She'd only been at the Academy to get a little training in before dinner, but that training would have to be put on hold for now. Because getting that something valuable and making it back to the Academy before anyone else is now the only thing that she can think about.

She's stolen things before now, anyway, it's not as if this is her first rodeo. Most back at the Academy wouldn't exactly turn to thievery to fulfill the challenge that she was given, but something being sold on the market stalls isn't exactly valuable. Maybe in price, but not in sentimental value, and that's what Desdemona assumes that the boy was implying. It wouldn't be hard to find something expensive in Two, all you had to do was look around.

So, Desdemona finds herself walking the streets of Two whilst trying to figure out exactly what she's going to take. First off, she needs to find somewhere to steal something from, and second of all she needs to find something _to_ steal. But there are so many houses and so many options. She's sure that every family has something that they're unwilling to part with. Something that they hold dear.

Her first thought is of Victor's Village, but Desdemona doesn't deem it worth the amount of effort. That place is swarming with peacekeepers, and she's not sure that it will send out the right message. After all, if she's going to do this then she might as well make a point of it. To the person that she's stealing from, of course. Not so much the entire district. Flaunting stolen items is a good way to get arrested. She wants to make a point to _someone, _not everyone.

It's almost as if a lightbulb goes off over her head as she realises exactly which house she wants to target. She can't believe that it wasn't her first thought, but as soon as the idea pops into her head she takes off running. If Desdemona wants to pull this off quickly then she needs to be fast. People will start heading home from work in around half an hour, and she needs to be able to blend into the crowd if she wants to steal something from someone's house. From the _Reveres'_ house. It's not as if this family are nobodies in the district. The tired workers wanting to get home aren't going to notice her slipping out. They're going to have their heads down as they shuffle in a crowd through the streets. But those just walking past will notice her straight away, and she can't take that change.

Normally, she hates the overcrowding when people are making their way home from work, but today it might just hand the greatest opportunity to her.

Because if she's going to steal from anyone then she'll feel less guilt over taking something from Annina Revere. It's not as if they were ever best friends, and especially since they're going head to head for the nomination this year. It's Desdemona's last year, and she needs to be the one to be selected, not Annina. She knows that the citizens of Two are rooting for both of the Revere siblings to go in this year, to pull the attention from all the other districts (especially One after their win last year, slaughtering Two's male tribute in the finale), but Desdemona plans to throw a wrench in that plan. After all, those at the Academy are selecting based on talent, not the attention they want to gain.

The district can have all the attention it desires once she wins.

Rounding the corner to the Revere's house, she slides a bobby pin out of her hair. Probably the most painstaking part of the whole process is getting into the Revere's back garden, but she vaults over the fence and makes it in without being caught somehow. Thanks to her older brother Dalton, she's known how to pick a lock for years, and so she does it with ease, wincing at the loud creak that the door lets out. Nobody should be home—Percival and Annina definitely aren't—so she tries not to worry about it too much. Still, she's as quiet as possible as she tiptoes into the nearest room which seems to be some sort of downstairs study.

Desdemona starts searching almost as soon as the door shuts behind her. She's lucky that she was so close to here, she guesses. The bedrooms and the study are probably her best bet at finding something good. She looks at the bookends and odd trinkets on the ends of the bookcase, the knickknacks on the shelves lining the walls. Then she starts rifling through the desk draws.

And that's where she finds it; an antique watch, carefully placed in a box. She pulls it out, mouth falling open slightly as she takes it in. This is it. This is what she needs to take. But she just wants to admire it first before she shoves it in her pocket. It must be worth a fortune. It's _beautiful_. Desdemona always knew that the Reveres were rich, but this was—well, it's breathtaking.

Letting her guard fall is her biggest mistake because the next thing she knows someone is grabbing her upper arm and spinning her to face them. Her blood runs cold when her eyes meet with Cassius Revere's, and she's completely mortified. The two of them look down at the watch she's holding, and he moves to take it from her.

No. She's not letting him ruin this for her.

She pulls away from Cassius, and before she knows fully what she's doing, her fist meets with Cassius's nose. Desdemona doesn't wait to find out whether she broke it or not before opening one of the windows and sliding out of it, the watch tucked in her pocket. She scales their fence again, with Cassius having caught her at apparently just the right time, as she blends into the crowds seamlessly. Her knuckles are throbbing, but the pain doesn't bother her as she practically skips back towards the Academy.

Of course, there's quite a lot that she should be worrying about; Percival and Annina know her, could point her out in a crowded room, and Cassius had seen her face. He's sure that Percival and Annina would know it was her straight away from the description he'd give them. Charges of assault plus breaking and entering could seriously hamper her chances of being able to volunteer. Would the family go that far? Desdemona isn't sure, but she tries not to dwell on it too much.

After all, she's made her point.

Not only to Annina, but to her whole family. She supposes that would've happened anyway when they noticed that the watch was missing anyway, but this was more direct. She'd locked eyes with Annina's dad, possibly broken his nose before she jumped out of the window. It'll be impressive if they manage to draw any conclusion but a big _fuck you_ from that.

Pushing open the doors to the Academy, Desdemona stalks up to the boy who challenged her, dangling the watch in his face. "Is that good enough for you?" She asks, slipping it back into her pocket and mirroring the pose that he'd adopted when challenging her. When the boy doesn't answer, looking slightly shocked that she'd actually pulled it off, she turns on her heel and leaves.

Heading home, Desdemona takes a minute to inspect her throbbing knuckles. Given the dark bruises starting to show, she'll bet that she did actually break the Revere patriarch's nose. She didn't mean to, but she supposes that what's done is done. But it's _such _a shame that she can't return and put it back like she originally intended to once she presented it at the Academy. She'll just have to hang onto it a little longer.

It's his fault for catching her.

Even with the possibility of the Reveres turning her into the peacekeepers, Desdemona is still smug as she reaches her own house. After all, whatever happens, she's made her point.

Desdemona Archibald will _always_ rise to the challenges given to her.

She hopes that both the Revere children will keep that in mind when she and Annina are vying for the position of female tribute next month, and she hopes that Percival keeps it in mind when the two of them are in the arena together fighting to be the one who comes home.

**Percival Revere (18) — 4:00PM  
District Two / Six Months until Reaping Day**

Percival has never been an arrogant guy, but it's no surprise when after a morning of competing, he's chosen as District Two's male tribute for this years' Games. It was pretty much guaranteed as soon as the shortlist was released a few days ago. Although the other boys were fierce competitors, he was always going to come out on top; they wanted the honour and the glory, but they weren't as willing to work hard for it. Training in the Academy only three days a week does not make a Victor, after all.

"Good job!" Eli grins as Percival heads towards the locker room, in a hurry to get showered before the girls' events start. "I knew you would do it!"

"Thanks for believing in me," Percival smiles, stopping by the shower cubicles. He bends down, giving Eli a quick kiss before he steps into the cubicle and draws the curtain, turning the water on.

"I'll go find Izzy in the girls' gym," Elli calls over the running water. "We'll try to get good seats and save you one."

Percival shouts back a thanks, hurrying to wash off the sweat that had been building up all morning. He needs to look somewhat put together when Annina wins her trials and they're shown off to the rest of the recruits as people to look up to, people who'll go down in history. Of course only one of them will make it back, but as a sibling pair, they're bound to draw attention even when one of them loses. Neither name will be lost to history like so many others. There hasn't been a sibling pair from Two before, at least in the same Games, but as his mother says; there's a first time for everything.

The only thing standing in the way is the wretched girl Desdemona Archibald, but Percival has no doubt that Annina can beat her. Annina has never stooped so low as to steal a family heirloom, after all.

He stops the water just as there's the final call for the female competitors to report to the gym, and he quickly towels off and shoves on a clean set of clothes. Bundling his bag in his locker, he makes his way to the gym, catching Annina's eye on the way in. He gives her a thumbs-up as he enters the hall, and her eyes light up when she sees him. Turning his head as he hears both Eli and Izzy calling his name, he gives his twin sister a quick wave before he takes his seat between his boyfriend and girlfriend in the front row.

"We figured you'd want to be up close to see Annina win," Izzy says as he sits down, pressing a quick kiss to Percival's cheek. "I bet your parents are going to be over the moon. Both of you in the same year, that's impressive."

"You could say that." Percival smiles. He slips a hand into Eli's as the trials start.

He's nervous almost every time that Annina is up, even though he's watched her do the same activities over and over, given her improvements and criticisms, and watched her act on them. His eyes dart between his sister and the judges, and even though she's impressing them he's still nervous. They've both trained their entire lives for this, and given Percival's selection, there's even more pressure on her to perform well. It's not as if their plans to volunteer in the same year have gone unnoticed. A pair of siblings both vying for both of the volunteer spots isn't a common occurrence and whether they wanted this to be public or not, there was no way of them keeping it all under wraps when the nomination lists were for all to see.

"She's doing well," Eli says during one of the brief breaks. Percival nods, watching Annina as she chats with one of the other nominees. "You've got nothing to worry about, Percival."

Before the next activity resumes, the judges call out the names of those who hadn't made it through. Ten girls down to four, and Annina is one of those left standing. Percival closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before the girls are partnered up for the sparring matches. The final round.

Percival has seen Annina spar before, hell, he's sparred _with _her. She's good. She'll be fine. She'll be more than fine. Especially up against the three other girls. Again, the only real threat is Desdemona, but thankfully Annina isn't paired up with her to start. She's up first, though, and she waves at him as she takes to the mat.

At first, Percival is too caught up in watching his sister fight to notice the comments that Desdemona is making, but when he sees Annina falter, her eyes darting to the side, he starts to pay more attention.

"You're favouring your left side!" Then, "grip the baton tighter!" And, "be careful not to overbalance!"

Any move that his sister makes is scrutinised, and whilst Annina tries to carry on, he can tell that it's getting under her skin. And rightly so. Eli grips his hand, and Izzy lays a hand on Percival's shoulder, both of them trying to be comforting but Percival's anger just continues to climb. He glares over at the judges; why aren't they stopping this? Desdemona is clearly trying to ruin Annina's chances, and only for her own benefit.

For a brief moment, Annina finds herself batonless, as it slips out of her fingers and clatters to the floor. She snatches it right back up, but Desdemona repeats her 'tip' about gripping the baton, and that's all it takes for their peers to start laughing. It ripples around the room, and Percival notices Annina going bright red with the unwanted attention. The other girl steps forward, Annina goes to dodge, and the next thing he knows his sister is sprawled out on the floor and the volume of the laughter heightens.

He's practically shaking with anger, jumping to his feet to yell a few choice words at Desdemona as the judges stop the match, attempting to quieten the room. Annina looks back at Percival, shaking her head and motioning for him to sit down before she moves to the judges' table. It takes a while for them to reach their decision, longer than usual, and Percival is still shaking when it's announced that both of the girls in the match would be dropped, given the 'poor' performance that both of them gave. It's no doubt Desdemona's doing that both of the girls got dropped; Percival could tell that she was critiquing them the entire time that they were crowded around the judges' table.

It's selfish, but Percival can't find himself in it to care about the other girl who bursts into tears and storms out of the gym. It wasn't only her who was affected by Desdemona's criticism, but his own sister. The Revere name has been _humiliated_. He has the spot, sure, but Annina has been shown up in front of everyone. People are going to remember that more.

Annina never would have fallen over if she was allowed to focus properly on her fight. He turns around, glaring at anyone around him who catches his eye. They're just as complicit; laughing at his sister. So what her technique isn't perfect? He doubts that half of the girls around him aren't as good as his sister.

"It's okay, Percival," Izzy tries to comfort him as Desdemona and the other girl take to the floor. "It's fine. You still have your spot."

Percival doesn't respond, just keeps his gaze forward at the sparring match that will decide who accompanies him into the Games. He has half a mind to start critiquing Desdemona, but he decides against stooping down to her level. He's not so much of a horrible person that he'll actively try and sabotage another person's chances.

But it's just his luck that it's Desdemona who wins the sparring match, cementing her place as the female volunteer.

He grits his teeth as he's called up to the front of the room, standing beside Desdemona as the gym fills with clapping. He refuses to look over at her, refuses to shake hands with her. She doesn't deserve the spot, and he's not going to play nice with her after what she did.

"Remember the watch," he says just loud enough for her to hear as everyone starts to leave. "I doubt the other Careers will be fond of you when they're told you're a thief. Of a family heirloom none the less."

"I gave it back," she whispers.

"Doesn't matter," Percival shrugs. "You still broke in and stole it. I doubt the Capitolites will like that, either. They won't want to sponsor a criminal. So, I suggest you play nicely for the next few months. Back me when I become the leader of the Career Pack."

"You're an ass."

"Maybe. But you're the one who started this," Percival says, turning away to join those filtering out of the gym. "I'll see you on that stage in six months. And remember, any funny business and we can still turn you in. You can't volunteer if you're in jail."

"Annina came fourth. Getting rid of me doesn't mean she can suddenly volunteer," Desdemona calls. Percival stops walking, turning around at that and crossing his arms over his chest. He takes a few steps towards her, keeping his voice low.

"This isn't about Annina anymore," he says. "But even if it was, you ruined her chance so why shouldn't I have the opportunity to ruin yours? I'm not saying I will, but the option is always there."

He walks away then, joining with Izzy and Eli outside of the gym. He's still angry as they walk home, even when his sister just shrugs it off and tells him that it's really not a big deal.

Today really didn't go to plan, but in six months Desdemona will find herself wishing that she hadn't volunteered. That's something to look forward to at least.

* * *

**AN: **three sets of tribute introductions down, five to go! Between the fourth and fifth introductions, I'm going to have a little Capitol interlude where we revisit Parthenope again just to break things up a bit. Also, I've put a poll up on my profile regarding the structures of the reapings, as I have a few ideas but want to get your guys' input!

And if you haven't enjoyed it already then you should check out our discord server. It's a real good time, I promise, and a good way to get in contact with me should you need to. It's not only for submitters, either; anyone is welcome to join!

I really hope that you enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you for the next one. As usual, once the POVs have been decided the names will be on my profile.

Have a good rest of your weekend!

_-In Writing._


	5. Capitol Interlude

**05 – Capitol Interlude**

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**Parthenope Adresta (26) **— 11:00AM  
Home / Two days until Reaping Day****

It should be a chance to relax; a weekend free to enjoy before things hit the fan on Monday and the Games kick off. But Parthenope can't seem to relax at all. Because the closer it gets to Reaping Day and the closer it gets to the Games is the increased threat of the documents that were stolen from her getting leaked. She's still none the wiser who carried it out, or why, but they'd done it for a reason and she wouldn't be surprised if it was some form of revenge. Parthenope Adresta has made more than one enemy in her life, especially in the Head Gamemaker.

The moment that the president announced her name to the Capitol was the moment that she had become simultaneously one of the most loved and hated people in Panem. Of course, most of those furious at her were situated in the districts, but she also had her fair share of haters in the Capitol, too; she hadn't shied away from the negative news articles about her following that announcement. With her family's rebel past in the war and ensuing Dark Days, and the fact that she was virtually unknown in the Gamemaking world. Usually, the Head Gamemaker would have a few years' experience before they were catapulted to the position, but a fresh face isn't unheard of. Just unusual.

Still, the seeds of doubt in her mind ignore that fact.

_The reapings can be rigged, _they remind her, _surely the Head Gamemaker selections can be too. _Three days ago, when setting up the rigging of the girls' slip in Eight—a request from the mayor of Eight on behalf of his daughter who'd apparently been having prolonged issues with the girl, who's family also wasn't quiet about their disdain for the Capitol— the thought had popped into her head and she'd laughed it off. But the more she thinks about it…

After all, these documents being leaked, if it happens, will be a big blow. It's a surefire way to ruin her and her family's reputation completely. Fool proof. She won't be hired for anything—maybe a cleaning job in a seedy bar somewhere if she's lucky—and the reputation that her grandparents fought to restore would be trampled to dust yet again.

When she looks back to the interviews it was clear that she was way more out of her depth than most of the other people there. She remembers the feeling of inadequacy, sitting there with half of the experience and the qualifications. Yet, here she was, holding the title that they were all vying for.

Callan would call her crazy if she opened up and she hopes that he'd be right.

Parthenope got the position because she was the best candidate for it. That's how it has to have been. Because she doesn't think she can deal with the scenario she's spun in her head. The documents disappearing don't have to be sinister, either. Maybe someone from her team came in and assumed that they weren't anything important. Maybe she just misplaced them and was so tired that she just doesn't remember where she put them. That's a more likely scenario than someone _stealing _them.

"It'll be fine," she murmurs as she stares out across the Capitol from her spot on her balcony. "It'll all be fine."

A few more months and she'll be relegated onto the gamemaking team. The meeting had gone well, and the president, although perplexed by her request, had backed her decision. They haven't quite figured out what department she'll be in yet, but honestly, she doesn't really care.

The voices calling her name from the street just reinforce that. As she gets to her feet, empty coffee cup in hand, she retreats inside and draws the curtains so the camera crew she'd only got a glimpse as she moved inside can't see in. With the stress of the documents looming over her head, she doesn't want anything else running against her name. No weird behaviours, no half-hearted interviews. Her refusal won't be anything to broadcast; it'll just be assumed that she's waiting until the interviews on Monday to start spilling secrets.

After all, it'll be a hell of a day. For her in particular. The arena is slated to be finished, the tributes will be on their way to the Capitol by the end of the night, and it'll mark a long few weeks as things really start to pick up.

"Is there a crew out there?" Callan startles her, emerging from the bedroom as he gestures at the drawn curtains. She nods, and he groans. "Can they not leave you alone for two minutes?"

Parthenope rinses out her cup in the sink. "Apparently not," she huffs. "I wish they would. I have way more than enough things on my plate right now."

"You've made it this far," Callan reminds her, hugging her from behind. He rests his chin on her shoulder as she braces herself against the sink. "You can weather these next few weeks just fine."

"Yeah. I can," Parthenope nods, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. The two of them fall silent, savouring this moment. They know that their time together is going to be scarce very soon.

"I would suggest that we spend some of this time off by going out to get breakfast or something, but I suppose that we can't without getting accosted now," Callan sighs, finally breaking the silence. "Tomorrow morning, maybe?"

Parthenope nods as he straightens up and loosens his grip around her waist. "Sounds good to me," she says. "But we'd better go early. The day before the reaping… it's going to get crowded out there quickly. We might not be able to get back into the building if we leave it too late."

Her corner of her boyfriend's lips twitch upwards as he takes her in. "I have to say, P, this whole thing is certainly an experience. Never thought I'd be trapped in my own apartment by news crews because my girlfriend is the Head Gamemaker."

"I never thought I'd be trapped in my own apartment because _I'm _the Head Gamemaker," Parthenope laughs. She dries off her mug before putting it back in the cupboard. "It's been a whirlwind of a year, huh?"

"In a good way, though," Callan says. "I don't regret any of this. I know you're not exactly enjoying yourself at work right now, but it'll all be worth it when everything's played out. I know it will."

If it isn't, then Parthenope would like to have a word with whatever higher being is above. Because these Games are very much the product of blood, sweat, and tears, and if there's no pay off then what's the point? There has to be at least something to look forward to between now and her eventual retirement. The Games themselves when the numbers start to dwindle? The finale? The Victor's interview? She isn't sure, but something has to happen or she might go a little insane.

Of course, there's her retirement from the position of Head Gamemaker, but that's not enough. Not with everything that's looming over her head right now. The constant fear of those documents being leaked, of making another misstep that could jeopardise everything…

It's a nice thought, something she's been clinging to, but it's also far off.

_You can't enjoy it if you're dead, _a voice in her head unhelpfully reminds her, _and that's what you'll be if those documents are released. _

Bile rises in her throat, and she abruptly rushes from the room and locks herself in the bathroom despite Callan's calls. She sinks to the floor, shakily edging towards the toilet bowl as her stomach churns with anxiety. Her head falls back against the cold tiles on the wall, and she stares up at the ceiling blankly as tears prick the corner of her eyes.

God. She's fucked up. She's really fucked up. And the realisation is hitting her like a truck now.

Especially now that the Games are so near. Because everything, right now, is resting on them. Her livelihood. Her reputation. They're all tied to these stupid Games and the stupid documents and all she wants to do when she thinks about them is scream. But she bites it down; trying her best to collect herself as Callan jiggles the doorknob.

"I'm fine," she calls to him half-heartedly. "I just don't feel too good. I'll be out in a minute."

He murmurs something that she doesn't quite hear, but his footsteps recede and she lets out a sigh.

She needs to stop working herself up like this. It's fine. Everything is _fine. _It's been over a week. If they wanted to do something then they'd have done it already; there's no point in trying to sabotage things during the Games. Everyone will be too absorbed in sizing up and admiring the tributes that nobody will care about what rumours are flying around. Every Capitolite would have heard what the arena is from the girlfriend's brother's aunt's goldfish on the gamemaking team, and it'll only get lost within the fray.

That revelation lifts a weight off her chest. Yeah. They'd have acted by now if they wanted to make a point. Especially if they wanted her to be replaced, or something to happen to her or… well, god knows what their plan was.

Parthenope can relax. The fact that whoever had her documents hasn't acted yet is a good thing. The whole thing is probably harmless. Just a disgruntled person trying to mess with her**—** they had _definitely _succeeded, she'll give them that—and nothing is going to come of it. It's all fine.

The only people who have to worry are those in the districts. Those families with kids' names in the bowl. The family of the girl from Eight she'd rigged in without a second thought. The trainers in the academies waiting anxiously to see if their efforts had paid off in the volunteers that were put forward. They're the ones who should be wallowing in their uncertainty, a punishment they've been bearing for almost a century.

She gets up off the bathroom floor, unlocking the door. She smiles at Callan, shaking her head as he offers to make her soup and tuck her into bed if she's sick.

"I'm fine," she tells him. Her voice doesn't waver. Her smile is genuine. "Really. I'm fine."

Whoever took the documents has missed their window to act. Parthenope wishes that she'd realised that before she almost had a breakdown. It's fine. She's fine. Reaping Day is in two days, and it's all going to be fine.

She curls up next to Callan on the sofa, not really paying attention to whatever show he's watching—she's never understood the appeal of these soap operas that most Capitolites rave about—and she realises just how lucky she is. She might not be having the greatest time at work right now, but at least she has someone to come home to. To spend her time with.

Someone she can trust whole-heartedly. No matter what happens in the coming weeks, she's sure he'll have her back. Parthenope will have his for sure.

* * *

**AN: **_finally _an update! Not the tribute introductions people were expecting, but instead the little Capitol interlude I promised after the next set of introductions. For my sanity, mainly, I'm going to be switching up the structure of the story where I'll be introducing tributes up until the chariot rides. This changes things up a bit and means that we can get to the pre games and Games quicker!

The next chapter hopefully shouldn't take as long as this one did. Covid-19 kind of royally screwed me over with university, and I've been kind of unmotivated as of late. Add in writer's block, assignments and the like and... yeah...

That being said, I hope everyone is doing okay amongst all the uncertainty with covid-19. Stay at home if you can, and if you're a key worker then thank you for what you're doing! I, and everyone else, really appreciate it.

I hope you have a good evening and enjoyed reading! I'll see you in the next update with Dalia, Ariah, and Bonnie.

Stay safe!

_-In Writing._


	6. Reaping Day Morning

**06 - Reaping Day Morning**

* * *

**Dalia Barrow (18) ****—** **7:00AM  
District Nine / Morning of the Reaping**

Dalia has never liked how solemn the district is on Reaping Day. Even her friends are quiet when they meet by the grain fields, making their daily walk from there through to the woods. Well. Maybe the _walk _isn't daily; usually they're running and excited, but the route is. Today, though, they're mostly quiet as they take their time reaching their favourite spot. Besides Claude, who hasn't yet turned eighteen, today marks the end of the reapings for the other three of them. It should be something they could celebrate this morning, something to put a smile on everyone's faces, but there's no point getting too comfortable with that fact until the reaping is actually over and done with. It might be their last reaping, but it could easily be their names pulled and even though it'll hit hard if it happens anyway, if it happens after celebrating that they're finally going to be free then it'll be an even bigger punch in the face in the shitshow that their lives will become.

So… they're not celebrating, yet. They will tonight, though, sneaking back into the woods after dinner. Dalia's parents say that it's important that she spends time with them tonight, and she doesn't think that they're wrong, only that it's also equally important for her to spend time with her friends too.

"I've never seen everyone so happy," Claude huffs as they reach their favourite spot, Valencia and Claude flopping down into the dirt whilst Jesse and Dalia perch on a fallen log. "You're really going to feed into what the Capitol want you to feel like?"

"What else are we supposed to do, Claude?" Jesse asks, raising his eyebrows. "You could be on your way to the Capitol in a few hours for all we know."

"You won't be, though," Dalia says quickly, nudging Jesse.

"He won't. I know that. But he _could _be."

"And you think that I would want one of my last moments with you guys to be _this?_" Claude gestures at them. "Us all sitting around and being mopey?"

"Isn't that what the goodbyes would be like, though?" Valencia speaks up, smiling a little. "Like this but with tears?"

"That's the point I'm trying to make; we can have this moment if we need to later," Claude sighs. "But, like, right now, I don't see why we're not all hanging off of tree branches or whatever wild stuff Dalia wants to do."

"You _never _hang off the tree branches with me," Dalia retorts, laughing. "So I don't see why you're saying that when you wouldn't do it anyway."

Claude grins, and then Dalia realises what he was trying to do. Cheer them all up. "I'll do it right now if you point out a tree."

Valencia opts to stay on the ground, sketchbook in lap, but in ten minutes Dalia, Jesse, and Claude have all scaled the trunk of a tree. Now that he's up here, Claude seems to be having second thoughts, but Dalia is loving it. Leaving the two boys with their arms wrapped around the trunk, Dalia reaches up and grabs the branch above her, side stepping towards the middle.

"Are you coming, or are you too chicken?" She asks the boys, sending a quick glance their way. Jesse doesn't think twice about rising to the challenge, but Claude stays where he is.

"Won't it break if we're all on it?" He calls. "It looks a little thin."

Jesse shakes his head. "It'll be fine. The branches down here are stronger. We're not going up to the top, that'd be asking for something bad to happen."

Claude looks up, then back down to Valencia who waves at them when she spots them looking. "Uh," he says. "I think I'm good staying here, actually."

"Do you want help getting down?" Dalia asks him. He gives her a shaky smile and nods. She doesn't bother telling him that she knew it; him even climbing the tree in the first place is a pretty big deal.

She and Jesse both make their way back to the trunk, and together they guide Claude down. He seems a lot happier when he's on his own two feet on the ground, and Dalia gives him a high-five.

"I'm proud of you," she tells him. "You did way better than you usually do."

She climbs back up the tree, Jesse having gone back up already, and the two of them sit next to each other on the branch, gazing out at the stretch of trees in front of them. Out here, now that they're not bringing the mood down themselves, it almost feels as if everything is fine. As if in a couple of hours she and her friends won't be crammed into the town square with all of the other district kids and watching two of them get picked to go into the Games. If it wasn't for that fact, nagging in the back of her head, she'd assume that it was just a regular day.

And she's okay with that. Because she doesn't really want to think about today too much. Not until she has to.

"What are we doing tonight?" She asks Jesse, swinging her legs a little. "Did we actually decide on anything? I can't really remember."

"No," Jesse laughs. "But I can bring a board game or something, and we can just chill and play it together. My mom says she has a little bit of alcohol in the house somewhere, but I figured that isn't really our scene, so I told her to save it for when Dad's being a pain in the ass or whatever."

Dalia snorts. "Can you imagine _any _of us drunk?"

"I've been drunk before," he says. "When I was a kid I stole some of my parents' stuff. You know, like most kids do if they can. But, no, I couldn't imagine anyone else drunk. Especially not you or Claude."

"I don't think I'd want to be drunk," Dalia wrinkles her nose. "I don't like not being in control of my actions. What if I, like, accidentally hurt someone or something? Or said something mean."

Jesse shakes his head. "I reckon you'd get pretty quiet if you were drunk. Thoughtful. You wouldn't be rude. We'd just have to stop you from getting, and trying to carry out, too many of your insane ideas. You'd be hanging off this tree branch upside down or something if we left you to your own devices."

Dalia shifts a little, turning the opposite way to where she was sitting. Making sure that her legs hook around the branch, she lets herself fall backwards. "Like this?" She grins. From down below she hears Claude and Valencia yelling at her to be careful.

"Exactly like that," he chuckles. "Now sit up before you fall and hurt yourself. I know you're supposed to be let out of the reaping if you're, like, dying, but we'll be free after this one so there's no point trying to get yourself out of it now."

Dalia laughs at that but manoeuvres herself back into a sitting position. It takes a few minutes but, eventually, she's sat up and facing the right way again.

"Tonight will be fun. Board games and no alcohol," she muses. "_And _we get to do it all over again next year when Claude ages out. I guess there's an upside to all of this."

"Kinda. Yeah," Jesse shrugs. "But then again, we shouldn't have to celebrate not being picked for six years to enter a deathmatch. Plus, the cycle will start all over again when we have kids and they grow up. We'll never escape it."

Dalia nods, and the sudden drop in mood makes her uncomfortable. "We'll be free for now though," she says in an attempt to lighten it up again. "That's what matters. Hell, it's not even certain that we will find anyone and have kids anyway, so for all we know, we're safe now. I mean, even if you did have a kid, then you'd still be free for the next twelve years. That's something."

"I guess so," he looks as if he wants to say something more, but when he opens his mouth Claude interrupts.

"Guys, it's just gone eight!"

Dalia groans, checking her watch herself. Crap. She'd lost track of time _again. _"I've gotta run home," she says, turning to Jesse. "Mom said I had to be back by now, so I'm already in trouble and I don't want to make it worse."

"Go," Jesse says. "It's fine, don't worry. I'll see you later after the reaping lets out."

"Bye." Dalia waves when she's back leaning against the tree trunk, about to climb down and take off running. "And good luck if I don't see you before."

"Good luck to you too."

Dalia shouts her goodbyes to Claude and Valencia when she's almost on the ground, sprinting as soon as she's on her own two feet.

She receives somewhat of a lecture when she gets home, out of breath and twenty minutes late, but it had been worth it.

Spending time with her friends is always worth it.

**Ariah Lawson (13) — 7:30AM  
District Three / Morning of the Reaping**

Her stomach is churning, but Ariah doesn't know if that's because she's nervous about being reaped, or if she's nervous about having to go out in public with her parents. They'll be watching her like a hawk the entire time; waiting for her to mess up. To be improper. To mess with her hair or trip on the heels her mom picked out for her last night. Then, when they get home, she'll be in trouble and she'll get that dreaded lecture about having to be proper at all times because when she's out in the district she's _representing_ their family. People will equate her actions with the reputation of their family, her dad says, but Ariah thinks that's bullshit.

If people are going to hold the actions of a thirteen year old against the reputation of a family, then that says more about them than her, she thinks, especially when she's not even doing anything bad. She just doesn't want to have to put so much thought into her actions; she wants to be normal. Like the kids her age who chase each other through the streets and scream and shout and laugh. Ariah bets that they don't get lectured like she does when they get home. She doesn't even want to think what her parents would have to say if they found her playing outside like that.

"Are you almost ready?!" Her mother's voice is curt as she raps on the door. "Breakfast will be served in a few minutes."

Ariah rolls her eyes. "Almost," she calls, although that's a lie; she's still in her pyjamas. "I'll be downstairs soon."

When she hears her mother's footsteps recede, she rolls off of her bed. Half-heartedly making it so that her mom doesn't yell at her later. Crossing the room, she picks up the outfit her mom had left in her armchair last night, wrinkling her nose at the dress that had been picked out for her. Of course Ariah had no input; it was what her mother wanted or the highway. Especially for reapings.

God forbid the camera sweeps over the district and catches her looking anything but her best to Capitolites who wouldn't even know who she was. As much as her parents would love it, their influence doesn't stretch _that _far. It's not as if they're even particularly powerful here, either. They're just rich. Her parents don't hold any influence themselves, not really. If her dad walked into the mayor's office and started making demands, they wouldn't be immediately acted on, but their money definitely does because if he made his demands alongside the promise of money, then the situation would be completely different. At least, that's what Ariah has gathered over the past few months.

People will do almost anything if they think that there's money in it for them, no matter what the demand is. Ariah has learned that the hard way over the past few years with the friends that have come and gone. But… Ariah is used to it now, and it is nice to have friends whilst the pretence lasts. Besides, if she has to use her family's wealth for something, she'd rather that it was for friends than anything else.

Sighing, she pulls on the dress, staring at herself, unimpressed, in the mirror. The dress is a nice one; white with blue embroidered flowers, but it's not _her. _There is a reason that it had been shoved in the back of her wardrobe until her mom found it yesterday; it's not something she would wear, ever, unless being forced to. As she drags a brush through her hair, she finds herself reaching for her green bandana, but she stops herself. She can already hear her parents' protests if she rocks up downstairs wearing that.

_"Ariah! Breakfast!" _

Her father's call startles her, and she rushes to leave her room and get down to the dining room as quickly as possible. She practically throws herself into her seat, just before her parents start carrying in the plates of food. Ariah says a soft thank you as her mom places her plate down, and waits for everyone to be sat before she starts to eat.

"Do you have any plans after the reaping, Ariah?" Her dad asks halfway through the meal. Ariah starts to shrug, but when her father clears his throat she drops her shoulder and looks up from her meal.

"Not that I know of," she says, cheeks burning. "But maybe May or Lilah will come over. They've been asking to for a while. If that's okay, of course."

"We'll have to see," he says. "I'm not sure how I feel about those girls yet. Lilah seems like trouble."

"She's not," Ariah shakes her head. She drops her gaze to her plate, pushing her food around. "She just… takes some getting used to."

Ariah knows damn well that both May and Lilah don't really like her. That they're hanging around purely because they want a handout from her family, but… well, friends are friends, and she's not about to turn away Lilah, the most popular girl in the school. That would be an extremely stupid move on Ariah's part, and whilst her parents seem to hate any friends that she has, Ariah is determined not to find herself friendless at thirteen. They're some of the very few things in her life that her parents can't actually control, so she's going to be friends with whoever she wants even if her parents don't like it. What are they going to do? They can't just ban her from hanging out with people at school.

"Well, you be careful around them okay?" Her father warns, and she mumbles an okay. He clears his throat again. "What have I told you about mumbling, Ariah? Speak up."

"I _said_ okay," she almost shouts, clenching her hands tightly around her cutlery. "I'll be careful."

"Don't raise your voice towards your father." The sharp tone to her mother's voice makes Ariah want the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She glares down at her mostly empty plate, quietly seething as her father joins in with the almost constant criticisms.

"I'm going to my room," Ariah announces after a few minutes of tense silence. She's not hungry anyway. "Thanks for the _lovely _breakfast."

When she's safely in her room, door locked, Ariah sinks into the armchair in the corner. May and Lilah always say that they'd give anything to have her life, but they probably wouldn't agree if they knew what went on behind closed doors. Sure, crumbling under the expectations of her family isn't on par with most of the other suffering going on in the district, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck. It's almost as if she can't do anything right in the eyes of her parents.

But she has to at least try, because she knows the hell they'll give her if she just decides to stop living up their image of who they want her to be. The first time had been bad enough; the shouting, and the pointed looks, the constant slating of her to her aunts and uncles and any other family members who happened to come over for dinner… she doesn't want to go through all of that again, and she's sure that her parents will find some way to make it worse this time. They're never short on punishments.

"Are you going to let me in to do you hair, or not?" Her mother rapping on her door catches her attention. Ariah doesn't move. "You can't sulk all morning. We have a reaping to go to, and I'd suggest that you let me in to do your hair for it. You've angered your father enough already. He's not going to be happy about you going out there all unkempt, is he?"

Ariah gets up, crossing her arms as she opens her door and lets her mother in. She doesn't say anything as she walks in and sits in the armchair, Ariah settling between her mother's leg as the woman starts to weave strands of her hair into braids.

"You know that what your father and I are teaching you is for your own good, right?" She says eventually, breaking the stony silence that had settled over Ariah's room. "You can reject it all you want, but it's to your detriment in the future. We're teaching these things to you because we want you to succeed. We love you, Ariah."

_Sometimes it doesn't feel like it, _Ariah thinks bitterly, though she isn't brave enough to say it out loud. How can they love her when all they do is find something wrong with everything that she tries to do? When they barely ever acknowledge her unless it's to shout or complain? Instead of voicing her feelings she simply just stares across her room, not acknowledging her mother's words at all.

"I'll see you downstairs," her mother says, tying off her second braid. "Preferably without that scowl on your face."

_Whatever. _Ariah curls her top lip as her mother closes her bedroom door behind her. She has five years until she can move out and distance herself from her parents as much as possible.

That's doable. It has to be, or else she might just end up going insane.

**Bonnie Carterson (16) — 9:00AM  
District Ten / Morning of the Reaping**

It's already almost unbearably hot as she, Josie and Greyson collapse on the grass behind the shed. Bonnie stretches out on her back, using her hands to shade her eyes from the bright rays. It's been a long morning already, even without the threat of getting thrown into the Hunger Games later looming above them, and Bonnie envies all of those who get this morning off as a break from work. She's exhausted, and it's not even midday yet. She can sleep the afternoon off if she wants to, though, given that they're not expected to return to the ranch after the reaping. Just in case that it happens to be someone they know boarding the train and hurtling towards the Capitol.

In the distance someone faintly calls their names, and Josie giggles softly. Bonnie herself smiles, taking a moment to relish in the fact that they're finally doing nothing after hours of work. If the boss man doesn't want them to sneak off in order to catch a break, then maybe he should actually just give them one. It's not as if they don't deserve them. They've been up since dawn, on a day that they shouldn't have to be, just to make sure the chores around the farm were done.

"I've heard word that there's a party tonight," Greyson says as he plucks blades of grass to fiddle with. He winks at Bonnie when she props herself up on her elbows. "You guys interested in possibly going?"

"No." Bonnie shakes her head. "We have work tomorrow morning. There's no way Dad will let me out tonight."

Josie wrinkles her nose. "Who has a party on Reaping Day anyway? That's kinda disrespectful if you ask me."

"I guess," Greyson shrugs. "I wasn't advocating for it; I was just saying it was a thing. I agree. Two kids are hurtling towards their deaths and people are getting drunk at a party? I like to think that most people in Ten are better than Capitolites, but…"

Josie snorts. "Parties on Reaping Day or not, at least we dress better than they do. No one in the district is walking around looking like they just stepped out of a UFO."

"That's true." Greyson nods. "That is very, very true."

"I'd love to see Capitolites living in District Ten," Bonnie laughs. "Can you imagine? I bet they've never actually seen a live farm animal in their entire lives."

"Hell," Greyson says. "I bet most kids in half of the districts have never seen a live farm animal in their lives. I mean… sure, we might be poor, and sure out district sucks at winning the Hunger Games, but at least we've seen a cow, right?"

"Well, if you get reaped today then they'll see one." Josie grins. Bonnie giggles. "Not the cow they were expecting, and certainly not the one that they deserve."

Greyson raises his eyebrows, looking incredulously at Josie. "What district kids _deserve _a cow?" He asks. "How does that even make sense."

"Just let her roll with it, Pumpkin," Bonnie grins. "Sweetheart's proud of herself for that one."

"The first part was good," Josie says. She looks to Greyson. "Come on, you've got to admit—"

"Admit what?" The three of them jump at the boss' voice, turning around to see him stood to the left of them, arms crossed. "That you're too lazy to work?" None of them have an answer, waiting with bated breath for the boss man's next move. Potentially, they're in a lot of trouble. They knew what they were getting into when they took their 'break', but the plan wasn't to get caught. There's a few beats of silence. Then the boss man starts laughing. "You should have seen all of your faces," he chuckles. "I'm just here to tell you we're done for the. Now get up and go home. Get ready for the reaping and I'll see you all tomorrow. Good luck, all of you."

They murmur their thanks, getting to their feet and dusting themselves off before they make their way, albeit sheepishly for getting caught in the first place, to the main gate.

"I'll see you both at the reaping," Bonnie smiles, giving them both hugs before they start to part ways. "And don't worry, we'll be fine. We've been fine every other year."

"Wish I had your optimism, Bonnie," Josie smiles. "But yeah. I'll see you later. Tell Cyril I say hi!"

"Give her a hi from me, too," Greyson says. He pulls Bonnie in for another hug. "See ya later."

Bonnie waves goodbye as she starts walking the opposite way, down the side of the dirt road. On a normal day it would be packed with workers walking to and from farms, and wagons heading to and from the marketplace, but today it's eerily quiet. She and the others had been up early enough this morning to watch the Capitol hovercrafts land, and it was weird to watch because one of them was carrying the escort that would happily condemn two kids to death later today. It meant that Reaping Day was finally upon them, and they couldn't just ignore it anymore.

Josie had gone white as a sheet when Greyson had pointed them out, and it had been Bonnie's job to try and comfort her. She'd meant what she said about them being okay; after all, they'd made it this far without getting picked. This year won't be any different. Getting down about the reaping is only feeding into the fear that the Capitol spend all year sowing and carefully cultivating; they want the district kids to be afraid. Bonnie's not going to let them do that to her.

If she wants to keep one thing throughout her life, it's her optimism. Maybe it makes her a little naïve, but she'd rather be that than miserable. There's no point falling prey to all of the doom and gloom in the district; there's enough of that already. People need optimism. Especially on days like today.

Bonnie reaches home without seeing a single person on the road, digging the key from her pocket as she reaches the front door. Kicking off her shoes, she peeks into the living room smiling at her grandma when they make eye contact.

"Greyson and Josie say hi." she tells her. "Oh, and they're going to come over for dinner tomorrow night. They're honoured that you invited them."

Her grandma smiles. "They're good kids, Bonnie," she says. "Now go and shower. You stink."

Bonnie laughs, but she does as her grandma tells her. Her dad and grandad are sat at the dining table eating breakfast, and Bonnie waves at them as she heads up the stairs to the bathroom. She takes a longer shower than usual given that she has the time after being sent home from work early, and when she heads to her room, someone has laid out an outfit for her. Her grandma probably. As much as she loves her dad and grandad, neither of them has the best fashion taste.

She dons the dress before making her way back downstairs. She'll sort out her hair closer to the reaping, but right now she's starving. She fixes herself a bowl of cereal, taking a seat opposite her grandad who smiles at her fondly.

"How was work, Little Lady?" He asks.

"Pretty good," Bonnie says around a mouthful of cereal. "We were busy this morning but Boss Man let us go early, so that's a plus. We have a late start tomorrow, too, so maybe I can start catching up on some sleep."

As much as she loves her apprenticeship at the ranch, it's not as if it's the easiest thing in the world. She wakes up early and goes to bed late. Her muscles are constantly aching, and her back hurts, but it's worth every second. She gets to spend time with Greyson and Josie every day, she gets her own money to pocket and spend on whatever she wants. But most of all, as her grandma would say, she gets to learn the value of hard work and that if you're willing to put in the work, you'll get far.

Even if they do take unauthorised breaks sometimes, she and her friends are far from being slackers. And eventually, when they age out of the apprenticeship even though none of them have any concrete ideas of what they want to do in the future she knows that whatever they choose, they'll go far in. And that's not just her being optimistic either; they put in the work. A damn sight more than other people their age do.

But it doesn't hurt to be optimistic about their chances, either. Not for the future, or for not getting reaped. When the reaping bell rings, Bonnie keeps her head held high as everyone makes their way to the square.

She and her friends will be fine. Perfectly fine.

* * *

**AN: **And we're back with another chapter. This time, the morning of the reapings. I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter; it was super fun to write, although it reminds me of just how much I miss my friends right now.

I hope that all of you are doing well in this crisis, and if you're struggling then don't be afraid to reach out!

The next chapter will be a reaping recap with Parthenope, hopefully up in the next couple of days, and then we'll be onto the first part of the train rides where we'll meet six of the twelve tributes that are left to be introduced! I'll let you know who those tributes will be in the author's note of the next chapter! See you then.

_-In Writing. _


	7. Reaping Recap

**07 - Reaping Recap**

* * *

**Parthenope Adresta (26) — 6:30PM  
Gamemaker HQ / Reaping Day**

Nothing could have prepared her for the chaos that Reaping Day would bring. She's been completely rushed off her feet; darting to and from department, making sure that everything was going without a hitch. She's caught glimpses of tributes, glimpses of the reapings, but now is the first time that she's sitting down to watch them. Parthenope would be lying if she said that she isn't even a little bit excited.

It reminds her of when she was a child, when she and her sisters would settle down with their parents in the living room and her father would have his betting slips ready. Her mom would bring in all of these crazy snacks, and she would always argue with her sisters about which tributes to bet on. With all of this craziness, Parthenope hasn't had the time to call her parents or check in with her sisters, but she hopes that she can live up to their expectations. Of course, it's not up to her who goes in, but tomorrow when they arrive in the Capitol and the tribute parade kicks off… well, that's when the fun begins, and she'll be damned if she disappoints anyone.

Some of the costumes she still has to approve, but the ones that she has signed off on so far have the potential to be brilliant. Of course, there's always has to be a costume that's just weird, and the plans that the stylists from Ten have submitted this year have checked that box. Her father always bets on what district is going to have the worst costume, and it's so hard to have to keep her mouth shut.

There was an offer to watch the reapings with the president, but Parthenope elected to watch them with Callan. She just needs a break; a moment away from everything and everyone expecting something from her. Earlier one of the workers had handed her the tribute files; everything they could dig up on the tributes, so it wasn't as if she's missing out on anything.

She's just been judged way too much today, and she wants some time to chill. She can always meet the president to discuss the tributes another time. A time when it's more important, when they know more, when they've observed them training. When she's deciding the training scores will be more useful than just observing them at their reapings.

"I've got coffee!" Callan announces as he enters her office, placing one of the to-go cups he's holding on the desk. "Ready to see who's gonna be playing your Games?"

"You're excited," she laughs, taking a swig of the coffee as he situates himself and drags a chair around to her side of the desk.

"The reapings are my favourite part," he says, grinning. "They're fun to watch."

"Remember that you can't bet this year," she smiles, flipping onto the first page in the binder. "You're a gamemaker now."

"The only downside." He presses a kiss to her lips, his gaze falling down onto the binder when they pull away. "Huh. Cinderella is an odd name."

"A pretty one, though." Parthenope comments, judging this as the right time to play the recap. The two of them fall silent, staring down at Parthenope's tablet as the square of District One comes into view.

The girl in question pushes her way to the front of the crowd as soon as the escort has read the name on the slip. She looks the part of a District One girl, blonde hair and blue eyes, and the muscle on her means it's clear to see that she's been training. The escort moves on, and it's a similar scene when Kieron Dale volunteers. Blonde hair, blue eyes, muscly.

"The head trainers must have had a type." Callan laughs. "A good start, though." He pauses for a minute, flipping the page in the binder to look at Kieron's page. "Supposedly his brother was supposed to be the volunteer," he informs her, eyes scanning the information. "Got hit by a wagon in the street yesterday and broke his leg. Huh…"

"Suspicious," Parthenope nods. "But it doesn't necessarily mean anything. Those things happen."

Callan doesn't look convinced, but Parthenope presses play again, moving onto District Two. Desdemona Archibald looks as if she's on top of the world as she stares out across the district after volunteering. There's a moment of silence once the male's name is called out, unusual in Two, but it's soon clear why as Percival Revere volunteers.

"He's… volunteering for himself?" Callan covers his mouth in an effort not to burst out laughing. "His name was read out, was it not?"

"It was." And Parthenope has to hold back laughter too. "But hey, he still volunteered so I guess he still counts as a volunteered Career."

"I guess so," Callan says. "But still… that's got to be somewhat embarrassing."

If it is, Percival doesn't show it. There's tension on that stage but, with a quick skim of the information typed on their pages, it's clear it's nothing to do with the awkward volunteering. They don't like each other. Parthenope is going to be keeping a close eye on the Career Pack during training, that's for sure.

The square changes to that of Three, their escort putting on a grand show as he picks out the girl's name. A tiny girl by the name of Ariah is reaped, tripping on her high heels as she ascends the steps to the stage. She briskly wipes away any tears that start to fall as she stands there on stage looking shellshocked, but the damage is done. Parthenope's can hear her father's voice in the back of his head, declaring her a bloodbath with a low chuckle. He'd say it about the boy too, only twelve years old, who pushes his way out of his section only to run the opposite way to the stage as he tries to get away. The peacekeepers have to practically throw him on the stage.

"Poor Three," Callan says. "They don't stand a chance this year."

Parthenope nods in agreement.

Luckily, things pick up back in Four. The trainers have done well this year, Parthenope thinks as Aveta Seacrest boldly declares herself as tribute. Kite Aegir follows, the two of them volunteering to applause from the others. The Career Pack this year looks formidable, and that excites Parthenope; the Careers are practically what make the Games.

"I'm attending the training days this year," Callan tells her. "I'm not missing these ones for the world. This pack is going to be awesome."

"Let's hope they don't let us down," Parthenope says. She's seen far too many Career Packs fall apart in the week before they enter the arena. So many bold personalities are bound to cause trouble and it's up to them whether they're able to push past it. For the sake of her Games she hopes that they can.

District Five produces Gracelynn Keso and Jos Callarin, both of them looking equally shocked as their names are called out. Gracelynn has her head hung low as she stands next to their escort, although it doesn't look like she's crying which is at least something in her favour, and Jos can't seem to close his mouth.

"He ought to close his mouth or he'll catch flies," Callan jokes. Parthenope snorts. He pauses the video whilst he flicks through the binder. "Poor Five always get the end of the stick," he says. "Especially being the district right after Four. Everyone always gets so excited about seeing the complete Career Pack, and then Five draws tributes like these two."

"The Career Pack will eat them for lunch," Parthenope says, nodding slightly. _It'll make for good TV, _she thinks solemnly and she's slightly ashamed of that thought. _I'm not wrong, though. _

She winces as little Tyravia Grange is reaped in Six. The girl sobs so hard that she can barely stand when the peacekeepers escort her onto the stage. The boy, Carson, not much older than the girl fights to keep it together as he stands beside his escort. He looks uncomfortable having to shake the girl's hand though, the reality of it all starting to sink in.

"They're both bloodbaths," Callan declares, leaning back in his chair. "I'd bet on it if I could."

Parthenope doesn't say anything, although she suspects that he's right. She's never been good at being able to ignore the tributes who cry. Even as a child. It's easier to pretend that she's doing the right thing when there are no tears involved.

District Seven doesn't help to alleviate the guilt that has suddenly settled on her shoulders as Lilah Screener makes her way to the stage, promptly bursting into tears as the escort welcomes her up. Cypress Hurley looks on the verge of tears once his name is called out, but when the pair of them are being ushered into the Justice Building, he reaches up and pats Lilah on the shoulder.

"It's… okay." The microphones faintly pick up. "It'll be okay."

"The Games are going to crush that kid," Parthenope murmurs after the doors to the Justice Building close.

"Bloodbath." Is all Callan says, lips pressed into a thin line.

District Eight appears on the screen, and Parthenope tenses as Eirlys Kelley is reaped. The girl is perhaps the smallest tribute yet, being shoved out of her section as she stands there in shock. The boy, Aertex, towers over her as he walks up to the stage. His face is blank, and Parthenope struggles to find any hint that he realises he's just been reaped.

"You rigged in a twelve year old?" Callan asks in disbelief.

Parthenope shakes her head. "I—I didn't know, Cal. The mayor asked me to… said the girl was bullying his daughter. He only sent her name. I figured it was an older kid. I didn't really think too much of it."

"Well… at least your bloodbath will be big."

Dalia Barrow only confuses Parthenope when her shocked face quickly changes to a smile as she races up to the stage. Her eyes portray the panic as the camera zooms in, but she looks almost confident besides that. Her district partner, Ryker, is pushed out of his section when he's reaped, looking anything but confident as he shakes hands with Dalia.

"I think they have a chance," Callan says. "They don't look like the usual walking corpses that Nine send, so that's something."

"I guess so." Parthenope nods. "I think Dalia will be someone to keep an eye on at least."

Bonnie Carterson looks completely overwhelmed once her name is read out, making her way to the stage slowly. She doesn't engage in their escort's attempt at conversation when he asks her what she's looking forward to seeing in the Capitol, and he quickly moves on to call the males' name. Ivan Rolcaster volunteering is something that completely blindsides both Callan and Parthenope, Callan reaching forward and pausing the video whilst they both try and gather their words.

"You got an outer district volunteer," he says eventually, clapping Parthenope on the back. "I'll bet people have gone _wild._"

Parthenope finds herself smiling. Her family certainly will have. It's not every Hunger Games that you get someone like Ivan volunteering, and they're always bound to bring the ratings up. As she scans it, there's nothing she can find written in the information of his file about exactly why he'd volunteer, but she can't really find it within herself to care. It doesn't really matter what the reason is; it benefits her anyway.

The pair of them are still buzzing when it's District Eleven's turn. The female tribute immediately dampens the atmosphere with the wail she lets out when her name echoes around the district, although she seems somewhat composed by the time she's on the stage. And when the camera finds Noen Sorrell, it's clear he's trying to appear confident but he can't hide the shaking of his clenched fists.

"That's three years in a row Eleven has reaped bloodbaths," Callan sighs. "You can't help but feel bad for them, can you?"

"Same for most of these districts," Parthenope nods. "I mean Eight haven't had a tribute survive the bloodbath in what seems like forever. Neither have Three."

"Hm." Callan flips back in the binder. "Well, maybe Eight has a chance with Aertex this year. Can't say the same thing for Three, though."

District Twelve comes on the screen, and Parthenope watches as Amaldine Chisna is reaped. Another rigging after a desperate plea from the mayor of Twelve. She's more of what Parthenope expected, shouting every swear word in the book out at the crowd in front of her. Wren doesn't even seem to acknowledge her tirade as he takes his place on stage, eyes wide and face pale.

"Poor Wren," Parthenope says. "Imagine trying to wrap your head around everything whilst that's going on."

_Good TV, _she reminds herself, though, _the talk shows will have a ball with that one. _

Callan stretches beside her as the screen flickers off. "You've got an interesting bunch there at least," he says, taking a swig of his coffee. "And I'm being serious about observing the training days. There's way too much potential for chaos, and I want to be there."

Parthenope laughs. "It'll be interesting, sure," she says. "I'm actually looking forward to it."

Callan stands, checking his watch. "As much as I'd love to stay and talk, I've got a report due tomorrow morning for my _horrible _boss. So, I'm going to have to speed off," he kisses her on the forehead as she stands up, before drawing her into a hug. "I'll see you later if you're coming home tonight."

"The plan is to come home," she nods. "But I've got a lot to do now that everything's starting, so we'll see if I make it back or not. Love you."

"Love you too, P. Don't work yourself ragged, though." He takes his leave, waving at her as he pulls the door shut.

Parthenope sits back down, flipping through the binder one more time. The Capitolites will be buzzing, she can already tell. Especially with their outer district volunteer. This bunch has the attention of the entire nation, those in the districts and the Capitols. Now, mostly for her sake, she just needs them to put on a good show.

* * *

**AN: **woo! Finally getting into the good stuff, with a completely full tribute list! I'm super duper excited to finally be getting into the pre games and for the next chapter when we can start exploring the dynamics between district partners! The next chapter, the first half of the train rides, will have POVs from Lilah, Nathaniel, Aertex, Wren, Aveta and Noen and I already have a considerable amount of them written so I'm hoping it will be uploaded soon!

See you all next chapter!

_-In Writing. _


	8. Train Rides I

**08 — Train Rides I**

* * *

**Nathaniel Cordelion (12) — 3:00PM  
District Three Male**

Nathaniel wishes that Saxa were here with him. She'd know exactly what to do to cheer everyone up right now, even if it was at his expense by playing a prank on him. The girl who was reaped with him, he can't seem to remember her name for the life of him, is just curled up on the corner of the sofa, an untouched plate of food resting in front of her. She looks as if she's about to burst into tears at any minute, Nathaniel thinks as he bounces his leg in anticipation for the reaping recap to start, so it doesn't seem as if she's going to be as good a friend as Saxa was to him. If she even wants to ally with him, that is. He hasn't yet gathered up the courage to ask her, or even thought of a way how to, but he does plan to ask her at some point. It just makes sense. Underdogs stick with underdogs in the Hunger Games, and he hasn't seen the reaping recap yet, but it's clear that neither of them are apex predators.

District partners are usually reliable, right? Nathaniel doesn't think he's ever watched a Hunger Games from start to finish before, even when they're being aired live and across several days so they don't require a stupidly long attention span to watch, but he's sure that most people ally with their district partners. Someone from home is a lot less likely to stab you in the back than a random kid from Seven who you only met a few days ago. If they win, they're not going to have the chance of bumping into your family in the marketplace, or suffering any sort of judgement.

Nathaniel doesn't know how he'd deal with having to see his district partner's family in the marketplace if he returned home full stop. Let alone if he'd been the one who'd killed her in the first place.

He wrinkles his nose at the thought as it crosses his mind, slightly ashamed that that's one of the first things he's thinking about in relation to the Games. His district partner is none the wiser, though, staring forward at the TV through glazed eyes. Turning his head, his eyes catch on the trees blurred in the window, and he wonders what it would look like out there if the train just screeched to a halt. There were trees, obviously, but what else? Stretches of fields? Fences? What districts were they between? What districts had they passed already—

"Nathaniel." The voice of his escort is clipped as the man taps him on the shoulder. "Pay attention. The recaps are starting."

Nathaniel turns back to the TV, biting back a sharp remark. Saxa doesn't like it when he gets snappy, and he's sure that their escort wouldn't either. He'd probably yell at him again like he did earlier when Nathaniel accidentally kicked over the glass of water that he'd put on the floor as he took his seat next to his district partner.

Glancing down, Nathaniel notices that the carpet is still wet. It does make sense for it to be, of course, but out of everything that they've managed to invent in the Capitol, why are fast drying carpets not one? With how much alcohol they all seem to consume, Nathaniel is surprised that it's not higher up on the list. He hasn't seen many drunk people in his life, but the ones that he has haven't exactly been the least clumsy of people. He's spilled many drinks in his life, including the one today, and he's sure that the Capitolites aren't immune to it either.

When he directs his attention back to the TV, he realises that he's already missed the two first reapings. He looks up just as the peacekeepers unceremoniously dump him on the stage, and beside him his district partner sniffs as their escort walks towards the girls' bowl. On his other side, their escort is grinning, nodding as he takes himself in on the screen. Nathaniel has never met another person who seems to love themselves as much as their escort does.

Watching their reaping reminds him that his district partner is called Ariah, and he makes a promise to himself that he won't forget it this time. Everything is a lot calmer now; all they're doing is sitting on a train, and so there's less chance of it just getting pushed out as he tries to process everything else.

"Hopefully I'll be getting promoted next year," the escort says from beside him. "It's about time."

"Shut up." The male mentor—Nathaniel can't remember his name either—scowls. "I mean, I hope so for our sake. You make me want to drink more than my memories of the Games sometimes."

Nathaniel sniggers at that, and even Ariah smiles slightly. Their escort just tuts, crossing his arms over his chest but not responding. The Careers in four volunteer, and the kids in five get reaped, but Nathaniel finds his gaze wandering as there's nothing that really captivates him about either of the tributes.

"Both of you would be good to try and ally with either of those guys." When his mentor speaks, the camera is focused on the town square of Six. Nathaniel wasn't even aware that it had changed over. "I'd imagine that they'll be seeking you out, too. Well. That's what I'd be advising them to do if I was their mentor."

It doesn't really make sense to Nathaniel that year after year the younger tributes seek out those their own age. Their alliances never last; they're never useful and in the snippets of Games that he's watched, they've never received sponsor gifts.

But he'll do what he's told. Because he wants to get home. He really, really does.

He's distracted for most of the other recaps, and he doesn't even register that they've finished until both their escort and mentor get up and retreat back to the table. They don't engage in conversation whilst Nathaniel watches them. It's eerily silent.

He turns to Ariah.

"Wanna ally?" He blurts out.

She nods, and for a moment she doesn't say anything. Then, after a few seconds of seemingly trying to choose her words, there's a quiet. "Yes please, Nathaniel. I'd like that a lot."

"Cool." He smiles. "Anyone else you think we should get to join us?"

"The Six pair like Jules told us," she says carefully. Jules must be their mentor. "Um… the girl from Eight, maybe? She's our age."

He hadn't been focused enough to watch her reaping, but he nods anyway. Ariah would be able to point her out in training. "Sounds good to me." He nods, before gesturing to her plate. "Are you going to eat that?"

"I should," she murmurs. "Alexandros gave it to me, so it would be rude not to but—"

"I'll eat the cookies if you don't." Nathaniel reaches towards one. Ariah doesn't stop him, so he plucks one and takes a bite. "You should at least try one, even if you pretend not to like it. It's not rude to not eat things you don't like."

"Hmmm. I guess so," she says. She picks up a cookie herself, nibbling on it. "It's nice." She declares. "But my mom's homemade ones are better."

"Home is always better." Nathaniel nods.

Home is where everyone he loves is, waiting for him to get back. He'll get there. He might never go to the marketplace again for fear of seeing Ariah's family, whoever they may be. He'll be fine, and, after all, Three is more than a marketplace.

**Wren Natross (18) — 4:00PM  
District Twelve Male**

It isn't hard to come to the conclusion that his district partner isn't the nicest person in Panem. She's been glowering in the corner for the majority of the time they've been here, cutting in and getting mouthy as Albia tries to give them both advice that could potentially save their asses. Wren tries not to pay her any attention. By the frequent glances in his direction, it's clear that the girl is trying to invoke some sort of reaction. But Wren won't give it to her, and neither will Albia who, to her credit, has remained almost impossibly calm throughout the whole thing.

He only vaguely remembers her from school, and from what he does remember, she hasn't changed a bit at all. She'd never bothered him, although almost every other kid had, she'd definitely bothered more than her fair share of other kids. Usually the younger ones. It'd almost been a breath of fresh air when she inevitably dropped out after falling too behind, but it wasn't too long before others stepped up and took her place. It's just Wren's luck that he would get stuck with her on their last year. Maybe this is what he gets for managing to escape it all on the playground.

"How do we even know you're a guy?" She calls as Albia is trying to explain how to find water. "You look like you could be a boy or a girl. What if you're just pretending to be whoever Wren Natross is?"

"What does it matter?" He retorts calmly. She's right. And usually it's something that Wren takes pride in; it can be fun to watch others try to figure out what gender he is, but it's the least of his worries right now. "Do you _really_ think I'd volunteer myself up for this bullshit? Surely I would just volunteer for you if I was a girl."

"Not necessarily." She pouts. Wren rolls his eyes and reaches for his glass of water. "Everyone seems hates me. I wouldn't put it past you to pretend to be a guy just because _I_ was reaped."

"Don't flatter yourself." Albia mutters. Amaldine glares and Wren has to try his hardest not to spray the mouthful of water he was trying to drink all over the table. "Look Amaldine," she continues. "You don't want to be here. I don't want you to be here, and I don't mean that in a rude way, but the fact of the matter is your name was pulled from that bowl. Now, I'm trying to offer you advice that could get you out of this mess. If you don't want to hear it and you think that you know best then fine, but please go to your room so that I can focus on Wren without you interrupting."

Amaldine mumbles something that Wren doesn't quite catch, but she remains where she's sat, leaning her head back against the window as she glares at Wren. He just offers her a small smile, really not interested in getting into an argument. He doesn't want to start anything when in a week, Amaldine could very well be in possession of a dagger.

Just that thought scares him, and he turns back to Albia. "What about alliances?" He asks. "Who do you think I should ally with?" Because after watching the recap, he does have a few ideas but nothing solid.

"I'm not allying with you." Amaldine scowls. "I'd rather eat my entire left leg."

"He wasn't asking you to ally with him, was he?" By the tone of Albia's voice, Wren can tell that the woman is getting increasingly frustrated. He doesn't blame her, though; he's pretty easy going but Amaldine is really starting to bother him too. Still. She _wants _a reaction. Albia clears her throat. "You're better off looking for allies who are closer to your own age. The younger kids will slow you down, so I'd rule out any of them. Thinking back to the recaps, you're better off with someone like the boys from Eight or Eleven."

"And how do I approach them for an alliance?" He asks. "Do I just go up to them?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Albia nods. "Don't push it if they say no, and don't take it personally. They don't hate you; they're just trying to figure out what they want to do themselves. Everybody is going to be playing these Games differently and it's important for you to understand that. Even in an alliance you're not going to agree on everything."

"I'm going to join the Career Pack," Amaldine says suddenly. "And when I join them, I'm going to make sure you," she jabs a finger towards Wren. "Are our first target."

"Again, Amaldine, don't flatter yourself." Albia raises an eyebrow. "I'd advise against trying to join the careers completely if I were you. You might just find yourself a target. They never take lightly to imposers."

"Who are you calling a fucking imposer—" Amaldine starts, before Honorius cuts them off with a loud shriek from where he's seated across the room.

"You're a wretched child." He calls. "Why don't you just leave us alone? I've had _enough._"

That seems to do it for Amaldine who gets to her feet and storms out, swearing up a storm. Wren sits still, staring down at the dark wood of the table, cursing whatever deity might be up there that out of all of the people in the district he could have been chosen with, he's been saddled with Amaldine Chisna.

He feels almost as if he's cursed, taking a small sip of his drink. Not only is every fleeting second one more close to his untimely, but inevitable, death, but he has to spend these last moments with a girl who acts like a toddler. It's almost a slap in the face.

But… if he plays it right, then he won't have to associate with her past meal times. If he does as Albia says, allies with the boys that she'd suggested, then hopefully they're better people than she is and he can spend his last week in a lot better company. It's not easy to judge people's character by their reapings; some of the most fierce tributes are the ones who had broke down crying a week before, but neither of the boys' first reaction to getting reaped was to start swearing at their district, so they certainly have that going for them.

Besides; he doesn't know if Amaldine is being serious about wanting to join the careers, but if she was then that was bound to be interesting… the girl is tall, a lot taller than him, and somewhat threatening, but there's nothing else that would make her appeal to the people who have been training literally their entire lives. Wren feels as if she wouldn't take no for an answer, though, and that's where the fun would start. He doesn't enjoy revelling in anyone's failure but he feels like he's justified with this one.

"Thanks, Albia," he says as he gets to his feet as well, wanting some time alone in his room to just space out and try and forget everything going on right now. "I'll see you for dinner."

"That's alright, Wren." Albia smiles. "See you later. And don't let her get to you."

"I won't." He shakes his head as he leaves the room.

He's been bullied before. He knows how to rise above it. She's not going to find the reaction she wants with him, that's for sure. But maybe she'll get more than she bargains for with the Careers.

Or, at least one can hope.

**Aveta Seacrest (18) — 5:30PM  
District Four Female**

It's almost too good to believe. She's on the train, heading towards the Capitol, as a tribute of the 98th Hunger Games. It almost feels as if there's a weight that has been lifted off of her shoulders, what with all of the stress and preparation leading up to finding herself on that stage shouting the words that she's been so desperate to say. And here she is. Lounging on a sofa whilst District Four's mentors talk amongst themselves in the background.

A recap of the reapings are playing, but Aveta switches off once Four's have played. She doesn't need to see anything but the Career Pack, all of which look fairly strong this year. The other tributes she'll get to see very soon, and it's not as if any of them are going to be anything to write home about. They never are. That's why the Career Pack come out on top year after year; because they're, to put it simply, the best, and that's not going to change this year.

She's looking forward to meeting the others, that's for sure. Kite has retreated to his room already, apparently not interested in anything now that he's made his sacrifice, but they've known each other almost all their lives. Not personally, but she's at least been aware of his existence for almost as long as she's been training at the academy. Meeting new people is always something that Aveta has liked, though, and meeting the people who are going to help her claim her victory? Even better. She's going to be their leader, head of the Career Pack, whether they know it yet or not.

The pair from Two intrigue her the most; there's clearly something going on between them, and she wants to find out what it is. Then, tell them to put it behind them. They're not kids and they most certainly shouldn't be holding grudges. Not if they want the Career Pack to get somewhat far in the Games. Whilst she'd love to be able to win them single-handedly, she's not conceited enough to think that it's actually an option. Six versus eighteen gives her a lot better odds than one versus twenty three, no matter how well she's trained.

"What do you think of the other ones, then?" Her mentor, Baia, asks, taking a seat on the armchair to Aveta's right. "Are you guys going to be a Career Pack to be reckoned with this year?"

"Of course we are." Aveta nods. "Pair from Two looked like they wanted to kill each other on stage right there and then, though. But the girl from One is pretty. I reckon she'll get a lot of sponsors if she plays her cards right. You know that the Capitolites love those girls from One."

"So, you want to be leader?" Baia says. "And what's your plan if anyone challenges you? I'm sure that you're not the only one out of the six who wants that spot."

"We'll figure it out," Aveta says. "Even if we have to put it towards a vote. I'm not averse to showing off in training if I have to prove myself. Kite will vote for me anyway, district loyalty and all that, so all I really have to do is win over two of the others. Three votes out of six will be a majority, especially if I cast mine for the least likely to win. I mean, it can't be _that _hard."

"You'd be surprised, Aveta." Baia raises an eyebrow. "And being leader of the Career Pack doesn't mean anything. I wasn't leader, and I still won."

"And that's good for you." Aveta shrugs. "But I know what I want. I'm going to get it, too."

Baia leans forward, into Aveta's view, and Aveta turns her head slightly to see her mentor fully. "Just don't be too offended if you don't end up heading it," she says. "It's not the end of the world. It's definitely not worth arguing about. You just get on with it. There's nothing more dangerous in the Games than a fractured Career Pack."

Aveta snorts. "Doubtful," she says. "I'd think the outer district tributes would be quite pleased with that."

"They would." Baia agrees. "But you're not an outer district tribute, are you? You're going to be putting your life into the hands of everyone in that Career Pack and, well, if you've pissed them off then what's to stop one of them from turning on you in the bloodbath? You might think you're the best in that Pack, but that's not going to mean anything if one of them catches you off guard."

"I won't let them," Aveta says simply. She sits up properly, meeting Baia's gaze. "I appreciate the advice, but we'll be fine. I promise. I've trained for this."

And sure, Baia's lived through it, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Her Career Pack was probably a lot different to the one that Aveta will be leading. That's the thing; no Hunger Games is like the one before it, or will be similar to the one after it. They change every year, whether that's for good and bad, and so she and Kite aren't going to know exactly what their Career Pack is going to be like until they're there in the training room, surrounded by all of the other tributes, with a week to sort themselves out before they're doing what they were born to do.

In the Games last year, the Careers had recruited the girl from Three into their pack. From the glimpse that Aveta caught of Three's reaping this year, it's clear that they won't be repeating that action. In fact, they're more than likely to be the ones slaughtering that girl this time around. Things change. She'll be the leader of the Career Pack, and it'll just be one more thing for the kids of Four to look up to her for when she inevitably wins and returns back home to Four.

There's not even a shred of doubt within her. Only excitement at finally making her dream come true. Since before she was even eligible for the reapings she's been waiting for this moment. Aveta isn't going to let anybody ruin it; not Baia, not Kite, not any of the other Careers, and certainly not any of the outer district kids.

Getting up, Aveta moves to the window, staring out at the blurring scenery as they whizz over the tracks. A hand on the cold pane of glass, she pretends that they're travelling in the opposite direction, back to Four. It won't be too long before they actually are, and now that she's living out this dream, she just needs to make it a bit further before it's over and it's done with.

And it's kind of a weird thought that in just over a week the Career Pack will be living out what she can imagine is a shared dream. By this time, the bloodbath will be over, many tributes dead and gone.

What will she be doing in exactly a week? Going over the supplies? Leading the other Careers on a hunt to try and kill even more tributes? She doesn't know. But just thinking about it makes the excitement building up within her grow.

They're almost there, and Aveta couldn't be happier.

**Aertex Stark (18) — 6:00PM  
District Eight Male**

There's a solemn mood in the District Eight cart. Eirlys, his district partner, hasn't said a word since they boarded the train, and neither has either of their mentors. Felicity locked herself in her room almost as soon as they stepped on, and Marv has just been glowering in the corner drinking himself stupid. He's so drunk that he can barely lift his spoon to his mouth to eat his soup without spilling any of it down him.

So, Aertex has counted all of them out of being any help at all. Their escort, Bellina, has tried her best to engage them in at least some sort of conversation, but anything she tries falls flat. Aertex is the only one who's even spoken in the past couple of hours, and it's not as if the two of them have much in common to talk about. He certainly doesn't want to gush to her about how cool the Games are. Maybe he would have before today, but the circumstances have changed drastically. His knowledge of past Games isn't just a fun thing to talk about anymore. It's something that's going to, hopefully, save his life.

He's watched tape after tape, Hunger Games after Hunger Games. It wasn't anything morbid; he wasn't doing it because he was interested in the blood and gore, but he watched because District Eight just kept losing, and it was frustrating, and he just wanted to know what they were doing wrong. Why year after year their tributes were falling in the bloodbath and why their district was just viewed as a joke. As a district who just sends bloodbath after bloodbath and have no worth beyond that.

He just wanted to help. To pass what he knew onto other kids in the future. After all, it's clear that none of Eight's kids can rely on either Marv or Felicity to get through the Games. But he didn't want to be here himself; that was _never _the plan. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't somewhat rattled.

Aertex knows one thing; he isn't going to be just another one of District Eight's tributes. He'll survive the bloodbath, and he'll be the first Victor that Eight has produced in over a decade. He's in a better position than the others, and how is Eight supposed to win, supposed to be taken seriously, if someone doesn't step up to mentor them? He's got to win. For his sake, for his mom's sake, for the sake of the future tributes of District Eight—

"What are you holding, dear?" Bellina's voice pulls him from his thoughts as she gestures to his district partner who's clutching something in her hand. A figure of some sort by the look of it.

"It's my token," she says quietly, surprising Aertex who was bracing for another awkward silence, unclenching her fist. The plastic figure stands on a little circular base, a woman with stupidly bright pink hair standing with her hands on her hips and a soccer ball under one foot. "It's Olynnia Caius. She's my favourite soccer player."

"I know Olynnia," Bellina says casually. Eirlys sits up straight beside him, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "She's a really good friend," she winks at Eirlys. "I'll make sure she knows that she's your favourite soccer player. I take it you like soccer a lot, then?"

Eirlys seemingly deflates at that question, and her voice wavers when she answers. "No," she says. "Well… I used to. When I was in Eight and I could play it with my friends. We actually had a really good match on Saturday. But now thinking about it just makes me sad, so… I don't think I like it anymore. But… Olynnia is still cool, so you can tell her if you want."

Aertex feels bad for her, he really does, but he stays silent and doesn't try and offer any comfort. Bellina does that for him. It's no surprise that he's already decided that he can't ally with her. She's more than likely a bloodbath, and she isn't going to help him in the arena. She's way too young, way too small to be of any help. Besides, he can't get attached. Not to her or anyone. That never bodes well for any tribute; those who get attached are the ones who become reckless. The ones who die doing something stupid.

Of course he needs an alliance, but he's not going to find one with Eirlys. She'd be much better with the pair from Three, or the girl from Six. He'll figure out his own alliance during training; observe the others and figure out who will be a good ally. He has some ideas from the recap, but nothing solid just yet.

"Can I go back to my room?" Eirlys asks, accidentally jostling him as she goes to stand. "I'm done eating and I think I just want to be alone for a little bit."

When Bellina nods and wishes her goodnight, she retreats. Aertex hears her start to cry just before the door to the hallway slides closed. Bellina coos sadly, a hand on her chest.

"Poor little dear."

"She's a bloodbath just like the rest of 'em," Marv slurs, waving a hand. "Ain't no use to any of us."

"Oh stop it, Marv," Bellina tuts, shaking her head. "Maybe if you actually sobered up you could—"

Aertex hurries to leave as the conversation devolves into an argument, locking himself in his room. He sits cross-legged on the bed, reaching for the TV remote on one of the bedside tables. The TV in the corner of the room flickers on, and he starts flicking through the channels for something to watch. But there's nothing other than the Capitol talk shows, gossiping about him and the others now on their way to the Capitol. He switches it off, grimacing slightly. He's already got enough on his mind; he doesn't need to listen to out of touch Capitolites trying to predict when he's going to die.

Because he's not. Eirlys will, the Careers will, the volunteer from Ten will and so will every other tribute, but he won't. He can't.

It'll be sad that twenty-three others have had to die for him to return home, and it's perhaps the biggest waste of life that Aertex can think of, but it's not his fault that he's found himself in this situation.

He's prepared. He has a plan. That puts him a step further than the majority of the tributes, surely. Perhaps in front of everyone but the Careers. And it's not like he's useless, either; sure, the Careers might be able to beat him in direct combat, that's obvious, but whilst Aertex might not have the brawn, he definitely has the brains.

Watching different Games over and over has given him plenty of information on how to get through this. He just needs to keep his head clear, gather the alliance he wants, and it'll all work out.

_God_. For once he just wants his brain to _shut up _about the Games. This is his last chance to be himself before he has to launch into Games mode as soon as they're in the parade. All of the thinking is exhausting.

He just wants to be back home again.

**Noen Sorrell (18) — 9:00PM  
District Eleven Male**

"You have _eight _siblings?" He asks Penelope incredulously. "I have one brother and he's annoying enough. How do you deal?"

The girl opposite him shrugs. "You get used to it," she says. "They have their moments, but they're mostly alright. They, uh, they give me something to get home for, so…"

The two of them have been talking on and off the entire train ride and as much as they try and steer the conversation away from it, the topic of the Hunger Games inevitably comes up. He supposes that they'd be naïve to think that it wouldn't given that they're still trying to come to terms with the fact that they've been reaped, and they're on their way to the Capitol right now to get paraded in front of thousands, but every time they land on it, it makes the knot in Noen's stomach solidify. He still hasn't fully wrapped his head around what's going on. He doesn't think that he wants to.

Because it terrifies him. All of this. He's a tribute in the Hunger Games and he's going to die. He's _going_ to die. Their mentors dance around it, he and Penelope try not to think about it, but the reality is that they're getting nowhere. They just aren't. They watched the recap. They saw the Careers. Hell, even Ivan from Ten, and they both realised the they were 100% bloodbaths. There's no sugar coating it.

"Yeah…" is all that Noen can manage to say. "Palmer gives me something to get home for, too."

He feels like an asshole saying that. Comparing his one sibling to Penelope's _eight. _But just because he has less siblings than she does, doesn't automatically mean that she's more important than him, or that she deserves to go home more than he does. They're both in this together and it sucks for both of them. Their families aren't the only ones who are going to be destroyed by this years' Hunger Games, and they certainly won't be the last.

"I just… I don't know…" Penelope's eyes are watering as she tries to find the right words. "I just wish I had more time to say goodbye, you know? It wouldn't be so bad if I could just sit down and explain it to them all. But I couldn't, and I doubt my parents or any of the older kids are in the state to."

Noen grimaces at that. "I'm sorry, Penny," is all that he can think of saying. Because what else is he supposed to say? He doesn't know how he can make that better. He wants to. He really wants to. But there isn't anything he can do.

She wipes at her eyes. "It is what it is." She sniffs. "They'll understand when they're older, I hope, but… I guess we could both just do without this right now."

"Yeah." Noen nods. "Yeah. You can say that again."

They settle into a long silence, situated at either end of the ridiculously long sofa pushed into the corner of the dining cart. Noen lets himself get lost in his thoughts, thinking back to Eleven. To the fun times he's had with his friends and anything that's not the silence in the cart.

His district partner stands up, the sudden movement pulling him back to reality. "Uh, it's been nice talking to you," she says. "But I think I'm going to go to bed now. Long day and everything."

"Makes sense," he says. He's getting tired to, but he knows he won't be able to sleep. "Sleep well. Thanks for listening to me."

"My pleasure." She smiles, moving towards the automatic door. "I'll see you in the morning. You sleep well, too."

"See you."

And just like that, Noen is left alone. He gets to his feet, too, shuffling out of the empty dining cart and down the hallway that seems to go on forever. Karma mentioned earlier that there was a viewing platform at the end of the train, and that's where Noen wants to go. He's been cooped up on this train for what feels like an age.

He never thought that he would miss the orchards of Eleven, where he and his parents toiled for hours on end under the hot sun until they barely had the energy to walk home, but he finds himself thinking that he'd give anything to be there right now. Noen wishes he hadn't complained so much now.

The door to the viewing platform slides open, and he against the wooden fence wrapped around the edge of the platform as he stares out at the train tracks. He doesn't know how far away they are from the Capitol, or from District Eleven either, but his heart still aches. There's almost a feeling of excitement when he thinks about the Capitol; the kids in the districts have always admired the pictures in their textbooks and what they see on the grainy TV screens, but he never wanted to visit it in these circumstances.

In fact, he'd be perfectly content with never seeing the Capitol in his entire lifetime rather than this. He's sure that Penelope shares his sentiments.

He feels awful for his district partner. From the few hours that they'd spent together, the pair of them had come to realise that they were very much alike. But Noen doesn't have eight siblings back home—just one, and his parents—and whilst his family is equally as important, and he misses them too, he knows that Penelope is suffering a lot more than he is. All that he wishes that he knew what he could do to make Penelope feel better about the whole situation. He likes to help people; he'll bend over backwards to do so, but for once he's stumped and he feels terrible about it.

It doesn't help that he's in the same spot, too, because how is he supposed to fix it for himself _and _Penelope? The only way to fix this mess is to get home. If Penelope goes home, he doesn't, and Palmer is left without his brother and his parents without their son. If Noen goes home then Penelope doesn't, and all her siblings are left without a sister, and her parents without a daughter. And that's assuming that one of them do go home which is, to put it simply, unlikely.

This is so beyond the scope of every other problem that he's had in his life and he just wants to run away. That's kind of impossible on a train, though.

Maybe he could make a mad dash for it when they reach the Capitol, although he doesn't know what he'll do after that. It feels better trying to plan for a possible escape, though, than for his imminent death.

Palmer had made him promise to do his best to come home when he was saying goodbye. So Noen knows that he can't just give up; that's just not an option. But watching the recap… seeing the careers… talking with Penelope…

He can't win and have everyone be happy. No matter what happens somebody is going to be suffering.

And perhaps that the scariest part of all of this; there's no way out of this that doesn't result in death.

**Lilah Screener (16) — 1:30AM  
District Seven Female**

She doesn't even know what time it is when the noises outside her door wake her up. They're faint, quiet thuds and occasionally the sound of paper ripping, but they're there and she stays frozen under her covers, heart beating wildly in her chest. Lilah knows that she isn't yet in the Games, but it feels as if she is; holding her breath as she listens.

There's no reason that anybody should be making noise, she thinks, as she finally gathers the courage to turn her light on and venture towards the door. She's not in the arena. Whatever is outside her door probably isn't someone wanting to kill her. The clock on the wall informs her that it's half one in the morning, so her district partner, mentors, and everyone else should be sound asleep. She has no idea what it is out there, but it can't be anything menacing.

Pulling her door open, she's surprised by the sight in front of her. Cypress is sitting on the floor in front of her door, clad in striped pyjamas and surrounded by scraps of paper. His head whips up when her door opens, and his face falls before his cheeks start to turn red.

"Oh," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hi."

"What are you doing?" She frowns. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I couldn't sleep." He shrugs. "I thought I'd do something nice for you to wake up to in the morning, but…"

She turns her head a little, following his gaze, and her eyes fall upon her door. Cut out drawings of balloons and a banner with 'happy birthday' scribbled on it have been taped to her door. Taken aback, she turns back to Cypress who's smiling at her.

"You said earlier that it was your birthday today, and I didn't want you to miss out just because you got reaped. I mean…" He pauses for a moment, getting to his feet. "It's gonna be a pretty sucky day no matter what, but I wanted to try and make it at least a _little _better."

"I love it." She grins. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Cypress smiles. "I also snuck some cake from the dining cart after dinner. I figured we could eat it for breakfast, although I doubt that the adults would be too happy about that."

"They can't have an opinion on it if they don't know," Lilah says. "Instead of cake for breakfast, we could easily change it to a little past midnight snack?

And maybe it isn't something that she would usually do, but why not? She's on a train hurtling towards the Capitol as a tribute of the 98th Hunger Games, celebrating her birthday at a stupid hour in the morning with a boy she only met a few hours ago. It's not as if this situation is at all normal. Who'd blame her for wanting to comfort herself with cake?

Cypress retreats to his room to grab the slices of cake whilst Lilah settles down in the dining cart. Cypress has decorated this too, more cut out balloons and banners with her name on and doodles of cakes and presents. It's sweet, she thinks, and she's surprised that he'd put in this much effort for someone that he doesn't really know. Technically, they're going to be enemies in a few days, and though she'd rather not think about it, she can't exactly hide from it.

"I didn't know what cake you'd like, so I got as many flavours as I could," Cypress says. He hands her a plate, and sure enough there are five slices of various flavours lined up. "I, um, can't remember which one's which, though. Sorry."

Lilah thanks him as she takes the fork he'd given her with the plate, and tastes a small bit of the leftmost piece. Vanilla. She decides to stick with that for now; it is one in the morning after all, and she doesn't want to be eating something overly rich that she'll later regret.

"So, you're a pilot?" Cypress asks around a mouthful of cake. "You really fly planes around Seven? They let you do that?"

"I got my license when I was your age," she tells him. "It took a lot of hard work. A lot of time and effort, but yeah, they let me do that. It's mainly only around Seven; Victors and the like who have the money to pay and just want a little bit of a thrill."

"What's Seven like from up there?" Cypress asks. "You can see the tops of the trees, right? That's got to be pretty cool."

And she's never really thought about that before, but she supposes that there was really no way for him to have seen the top of a tree. Most of the workers probably never had either. Well… when the tree was upright, at least. Definitely not from as high as she had seen them; stretching out across the district in every direction.

"It's very cool." She says, and there's a longing feeling that settles in her chest. She'd give _anything _to be up in the air right now. "And Seven is really pretty. The trees look so small when you're up there, too. It was really weird the first few times, but I love it. It's refreshing."

"I'll bet." Cypress laughs a little. And for a moment it's as if they're not speeding towards their deaths; as if everything is just fine—like Lilah keeps trying to convince herself—and like Cypress is a friend that she's known for a while, and this is just a normal birthday like the sixteen others that she's celebrated throughout her life.

It's not though. And that realisation hits her like a truck. She's sitting across from a kid who has no chance against the Careers they'd watched volunteer this afternoon. Hell, _she _has no chance against the Careers that they'd watched volunteer this afternoon. None of the others do, really.

But… she doesn't have to think about that. Not right now. It's her birthday. She's turning seventeen. She has cake! Cypress has decorated for her. Just because she's going to be in the arena in a few days doesn't mean that the remaining days have to be full of doom and gloom. Besides, Cypress seems to be holding up alright. Lilah doesn't want to bring his mood down just because she's upset. He doesn't deserve that.

"Hey, Lilah?" Cypress asks. Lilah looks up from her cake, but he doesn't meet her gaze. "Do you want to ally with me? I don't want you to think I did all of this just so you would, and you can say no if you want to, but—"

"Yeah. Of course. I think that allying is a good idea," Lilah cuts him off. The boy looks up, grinning. "I think we'd make a good team. A really good team."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah." And Cypress' smile at that makes her feel a lot better. "I'd say that we're District Seven's best chance at winning in a long, long time." She isn't sure how much that's true, but it won't hurt to let herself end up believing it.

"I was worried that you were going to say no," Cypress says, leaning back on the sofa. "But I'm really glad you didn't. Can you tell me more about flying? If I close my eyes I can pretend that I'm there."

"Sure thing." She laughs. She closes her own eyes as she starts to talk.

It's fine. Everything is fine. Whatever happens in the next few days is going to happen. She and Cypress can deal with it. They'll be fine.

Everything will work out in the end. It always has. Always will.

* * *

**Alliances:**

**Career Pack: **Kieron, Cinderella, Percival, Desdemona, Kite & Aveta**  
D3 pair: **Nathaniel & Ariah**  
D7 pair: **Cypress & Lilah

(i will come up with better names eventually, i promise!)

* * *

**AN: **another day, another chapter! I'm very excited about this one. I don't know if it's because I've been planning some of these scenes since I got the tributes, or just because we're so much closer to finally having seen the entire cast, but hell I'm hyped to upload this chapter. I had most of it written before I uploaded the recap, so that's why it's coming so close. I don't know how long the next one will take, but hopefully not as long. I seriously can't wait for you guys to have met everyone!

Anyway, I hope that everyone is still doing well! Stay safe and I'll see you next time with POVs from Cinderella, Kite, Ryker, Tyravia, and Ivan! **Edit: *It has been pointed out to me that I am a dumbass and can't count, but we'll see Jos, too!***

_-In Writing._


	9. Train Rides II

**09 – Train Rides II**

_**TW: there is a brief mention of suicide in Ivan's POV**_

* * *

**Cinderella Kettering (18) — 6:00AM  
District One Female**

Cinderella has never felt as lost as she has in this moment. Staring up at the ceiling, on a train the morning after she volunteered for the Hunger Games. In the room over, Kieron is probably asleep, but she knows that when he wakes he'll be happy; determined. Not lost like she is, wondering where she went wrong.

Because she's living out a dream here. The issue being that it's not her dream.

Her mom had been happy yesterday, though, bursting through the doors of the goodbye room to wish her well. Cinderella doesn't think that she's ever seen her mom smile that wide, or has ever hugged her so tight. Whilst her mom had never been able to volunteer, bitterly missing out on her chance when she wasn't chosen, Cinderella had somehow managed it. Being the mother to a Victor is almost as good as being one yourself, right? Or will her mom just end up disappointed once Cinderella gets home? She doesn't quite know.

There's only one problem; Cinderella might be a Career, but she _doesn't _want to kill. She really doesn't. She just wants to get home, live out her mother's dream, become a Victor and then never have to do anything like this again.

One gets Victors. One gets plenty of Victors; if Cinderella plays her cards right then next year could be the only year that she would have to mentor. She could retire in Victors Village with everyone and act as if none of it ever happened the year after.

Because how is she supposed to live with herself knowing that she killed that tiny girl from Eight, or watched it happen at the hands of another tribute? Or the girl from Six, the boy from Three. Any of those _children _who'd barely had a start in life. When their deaths—inevitably—happen she can't let herself dwell on them because that's when she'll start to spiral. She knows it. Hell, how is she supposed to face the death of Kieron, either, the boy who'd stepped up to bring the honour that his family desired after his brother's unfortunate accident?

He wants this. She knows he does. More than her, at least. Well, maybe not the victory because she really, _really, _wants to go home. He wants everything that she doesn't; the glory, the prestige, the money. All Cinderella wants—has ever wanted—is to impress her mom and now... well, she isn't sure that it's the best motive going into this.

Because the longer she gets tangled up in her thoughts, the more the Academy plan starts to dissolve. She'd watched the reaping recaps yesterday afternoon with the sole purpose of finding out what the Career Pack would look like. It ended with her feeling crushed for all of the kids she'll be up against. That was never part of the plan. She's supposed to kill. But she can't. She _knows _that she can't.

She's starting to doubt whether or not she's quite cut out for this.

It's not a good position to be in, especially not right now, but she doesn't know how to get out of it.

And if she goes to the mentors about this then they'll be furious at her. Kieron will shun her, the Careers will more than likely toss her out; caring is soft and soft Careers don't win the Hunger games. She'll be a burden to them. A target.

So, she has to keep this quiet. Cinderella has masked this almost the entire time she's been in the Academy, training day after day. If she managed to keep up the charade there, then what's another week or so? It's nothing compared to the years. She just has to keep reminding herself of that.

She can do this. They wouldn't have selected her if she couldn't.

She pushes her duvet back, opening the curtains. It's still dark outside, and she shivers in her thin cotton pyjamas. It's a little weird to think that they'll be in the Capitol in a few hours, dressed to the gods in whatever their stylists have made for them. At least she doesn't have to worry about being made a laughing stock like some of the other districts. The Careers at least have effort put into their costumes.

As a child, the parade was always her favourite part of the Games. She would sit in front of the TV with a notebook in her lap, jotting down the descriptions of her favourite costumes that she could rework into a story later on. She'd always say that the girls looked like princesses, and her mom would always jump in with a _"and so will you when It's your turn. You're named after a princess, after all!" _And the process would repeat with the interviews, the magic only wearing off when the timer counted down and she had to watch the slaughter.

The grubby outfits that the tributes would wear in the arena, often becoming stained with blood, just didn't delight her in the same way.

She doesn't necessarily think that that's something to be ashamed of. Maybe she's a Career, but she doesn't need to be heartless, right?

It's not only the vicious Careers that win, after all. And there have been Victors who haven't killed anyone. Not in a long while, but their names are still in their districts' books of Victors, read out every year as a reminder that you don't necessarily become a Victor through mindless violence. If you play your cards right you can win however you want to.

Cinderella lets out a quiet sigh, turning away from the window. She needs to stop thinking for once. Usually, getting lost in her thoughts is never a bad thing. Not when she's dreaming up plots for her stories, or characters that she wants to start fleshing out. Her father is the same way; forever dreaming, and he's done just fine for himself with his sold out books and seemingly perfect family.

She'll be fine. She's trained for this. The Academy put great thought in the tributes that they choose; they wouldn't have chosen Cinderella if they thought that there was absolutely no chance of her making it out of this alive. It's that simple. Both she and Kieron have something to offer, and both of them have chances. Much higher than any of those other tributes that she'd watched yesterday.

If she just keeps her head on straight, she'll be back on this train in no time. She'll be a Victor, and her mom will be proud. It'll be what she's always dreamed of, even as a gap toothed kid, skipping home from her training sessions.

She'll become a Victor. She _has _to. For her sake. For her mom's sake.

It's just hard knowing that in order for that to happen, she has to let go of what makes her human.

**Tyravia Grange (13) — 7:30AM  
District Six Female**

Tyravia sits cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, a notepad in her lap and a pencil in her hand. She stares down at the blank page, willing for something to just materialise there, something to just appear that she can work with and get all of her pent-up creative energy out on. But nothing comes; she just remains staring at an empty page, and she can feel the frustration start to build up.

Getting to her feet, Tyravia leaves her room, blinking back tears. The doors to the mentors' rooms are already open, and so is their escort's. For a minute, she debates turning towards the dining cart, where she can already hear quiet chatter, but facing people is the last thing that she wants to do right now until she can get herself together, so she turns to the viewing platform where she sits down, peering through the gaps in the fence, more than likely put there to stop tributes from throwing themselves off, coupled with the forcefield. It's not a very appealing idea to Tyravia, but then again, neither is entering the Hunger Games.

She reaches into the shirt pocket of her light blue pyjamas, pulling out the folded photograph she'd placed in their last night. Her token. Her _family. _Tyravia takes a deep breath as the tears threaten to fall again; if she wants to make it back, then she can't just spend the whole time in the Capitol crying. Besides, she managed to survive living with her real parents for ten years. She can… she can do this.

Behind her, she hears the door sliding open and she twists around to see who it is. Her district partner, still in his pyjamas too, waves at her as he shuffles out onto the deck, yawning as he sits beside her.

"In the words of my friend Marco," he says, stretching his hands above his head. "We're both fucked."

Tyravia quickly puts on a smile, pretending as if she found the statement funny. Carson seems to be handling things well; she doesn't want to drag his mood down just because she wants to go home.

"Yeah." She agrees. "Probably." After all, he's not wrong, as much as she tries to divert her attention away from that fact.

Just when things were starting to get better at home; when she wasn't waking up every night plagued by the nightmares of her parents and the life she lived before moving in with her friends, this had to happen. Because what's more unrealistic? Tyravia making it through the reapings without getting chosen, or Tyravia being able to live a normal life for once, free of fear? Clearly whatever deity is up there has something against her. Whether it's a curse or she's done something wrong, she doesn't know. All she knows right now is that she'd rather be at home than sat here, staring at a line of train tracks.

"Well," Carson says, pulling Tyravia out of her thoughts. "Tributes do better as a teams, right?" Tyravia looks at him, nodding slowly. "So... do you want to ally?"

"Really?" She sits up straight, frowning slightly at him. "You want_ me_?"

"Sure I do," he smiles. "We're both from Six; we gotta stay together."

And Tyravia doesn't have any particular loyalty to her district, but is that's what brings her an ally, then... "Sure. Thanks, Carson."

"That's alright," he says. Tyravia draws her knees to her chest, staring forward through the slats in the wooden fence. It would almost be a peaceful moment if it didn't feel as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Beside her, Carson gets to his feet. "We should probably get to thinking about a game plan," he murmurs. "So we're prepared and all."

"I—I don't really want to think about the Games right now." Tyravia grimaces. She turns away from him, looking forward.

"We have to." Carson's voice is steely, and when Tyravia turns to him he's gripping the railing so hard that his knuckles are turning white. "This isn't something that we can just _ignore._"

"I just—"

"If we ignore it then everyone else is just going to get a leg up on us." He continues. "Do you think the other tributes aren't already planning how they're going to murder us? Or how they're going to get out of the cornucopia alive, or..." he trails off, his eyebrows knitted together. After a moment he turns back to her, expression softening. "I don't mean to be short with yoy or anything, but... if we want any chance of winning this then we can't afford not to think about the Games. It's the unfortunate truth."

Tyravia doesn't answer, squeezing her eyes shut. God, she just wants to be at home. What has she done to deserve this? She doesn't want to think about it, she really doesn't, but Carson is right. Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away; whether she chooses to acknowledge it or not, in a week or so, she will be fighting for her life inside of the arena.

"Yeah," she says eventually. "I guess you're right."

Carson exhales. "I thought you were going to freak out on me for a minute," he says. 'I mean, not that that's a bad thing... You can cry if you want to, but I'm not too good with people crying, so..."

Tyravia lets out a quiet laugh, wiping at her eyes. "It's—I—this just sucks."

He sits down beside her again, nodding. "It does."

And there's the statement on the tip of her tongue: _only one of us can go home, though. _But she knows better than to speak it aloud. If she doesn't want to focus on the Games, then she doesn't want to focus on that either. Though out of the pair of them, it's not going to be her. She _knows _it's not going to be her. Because, clearly, nothing good ever happens to her; all her reaping has done has cemented it.

"I'm going back to my room," she says abruptly, getting to her feet. Carson calls after her, but he doesn't come knocking on her door once she slams it shut. As soon as the lock has slid into place, she starts to sob, all of the stresses of the morning taking over. All of the tears she'd almost cried on the observation deck sliding down her cheeks as she wraps herself in a blanket and crumples to the floor beside her empty notepad.

The blank pages only make her cry more.

She's going to die. Far from home, far from her real family, with Carson and the picture she'd been given as her token to remind her of home. Of her _real _home. Of the home that she had seemed to have taken for granted.

**Jos Callarin (15) — 8:00AM  
District Five Male**

"Jos can you stop tapping please?"

He looks up at his district partner's quiet request, nodding. She gives him a small smile, and turns back to her plate of untouched food, pushing around some scrambled eggs as they wait for their mentors to join them. Jos drops his hand to his side, tapping against his leg rather than the table, and wraps his other hand tightly around the hand of his fork, taking a small bite of something that the escort had _insisted _that he try.

"Is it good?" She asks as soon as Jos has started chewing. "It's my favourite."

He nods. "Yeah," he says. "It's nice."

Gracelynn wrinkles her nose from beside him. "What even is it?"

"Black pudding," Jairus says simply. "It's a blood sausage."

"A... a what?" Jos grabs a napkin, spitting out the little bit he had in his mouth. "It's made of _blood_? You could have told me that before I ate a bit of it!"

Jairus sniffs. "You said it was nice."

"It... well, it was." Jos frowns. "but I don't want to eat something made out of blood no matter how good it is."

"Suit yourself. Jairus shrugs. "I'll eat the rest of it if you're not going to."

Jos lets their escort take the slice off of his plate, the carriage falling into silence as the three of them get on with their meals. Jos eats until he's full, avoiding anything that their escort mumbles is nice, and beside him Gracelynn still pushes around her food. Jos wants to say something to her; to remind her that they will be going into the Games in a few days and therefore they had to eat all that they could now, but he doesn't want to start an argument so he keep his mouth shut. His district partner is nice, sure, but she also hasn't spoken much since the reaping, and he doesn't want to tread on the toes of someone he's barely met, and definitely not someone who will be his enemy in a short while. Someone in the way of him returning home.

Because as nice as Gracelynn is, Jos just can't see them allying. It was a suggestion from their mentors yesterday that they should, but neither of them had made the move. He doesn't know who he wants to ally with, but not her.

After all, it's going to be hard enough to kill someone already. Let alone someone who he's allowed himself to get attached to. Someone from home.

"Morning, Jairus, Gracelynn, Jos." One of their mentors, Alexander, finally makes an appearance. He nods in greeting to all of them, taking a seat beside Jairus as he reaches forward and starts filling his plate.

"Jairus made me try black pudding," Jos says, trying to fill the silence. Alexander looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. But not before he told me it was made from blood."

Alexander laughs at that. "That's mean, Jai," he snickers as he butters a slice of toast. "But you could've at least waited until I was here."

"Where's Brianna?" Gracelynn asks.

"She'll be here soon." Alex shrugs, shovelling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "If you're worried about anything you can ask me now. I'm as much your mentor as I am Jos', the assigning thing is just a formality. Now. Back to what we were talking about last night; are you two going to ally?"

Both Gracelynn and Jos look at each other before shaking their heads.

"Right. Okay. And you're both pretty set in that decision?"

They look at each other once more, before Gracelynn speaks up. "Yes. That's what I wanted to talk to Brianna about. Allies, I mean."

"Well, who do you have in mind?"

"I—"

"I want to ask the boy from Six," Jos cuts in. "Do you think that's a good idea, Alexander?"

"Jos," Alexander says. "Gracelynn was speaking. Ally with the boy from Six if he'll take you, sure, but nobody is going to want a rude ally, are they?"

Jos feels his cheeks start to heat up, dropping his gaze down to his mostly empty plate. "Oh," he says. "Sorry, Gracelynn. I didn't mean anything by it, I was just reminded and..."

"It's okay, Jos." His district partner murmurs. But still, Jos feels awful.

He stands up, clearing his throat. "Um. I'm done with breakfast, so I'm going to go and explore the train."

No one says anything as he leaves, making his way down to the end of the train. He'd discovered the ladder, concealed in a small room, last night when he couldn't sleep, and now he climbs it, pushing open the hatch. It's not any surprise that it leads to the top of the train when he hauls himself up, but being up there, standing up at the wind whips through his hair... well, it's the best he's felt in a while, that's for sure.

Jos peers forward, over the edge of the train. There's a faint urge in the back of his mind to just jump; to pitch himself forward and let himself fall into the forcefield. He's always liked doing dangerous things, but he concedes that that's probably a little bit too far. What if the forcefield is a myth, and he ends up splatting himself on the train tracks? Jos knows that the chances of him leaving the arena are slim, but he'll completely eliminate them if he falls to his death now.

He twists the black bracelet given to him for his token around his wrist, sitting down as it begins to get harder for him to maintain his balance.

The odds are stacked against him, but Jos needs to get home as quickly as he can. What if his dad gets sicker? What if he _dies _and Jos doesn't even get to say goodbye? Being so ill that you're excused from the reaping isn't something to take lightly.

He's tried not to think about it too much, but here, on this roof and alone with his thoughts, it's hard to think of anything else. Jos realises, with a sick feeling in his stomach, that if his father was in Jairus' place, a citizen of the Capitol, he'd be cured of his pneumonia easily. No forlorn doctors, or wills, or older siblings stressing about having to become providers for everyone should the unthinkable happen. He'd be cured. Because the Capitol can cure almost anything.

And here Jos is, as healthy as he's ever been, speeding towards the very same place that possess so many cures. Heading towards his death.

It's sick.

**Ryker Bansal (18) —** **8:30AM**  
**District Nine Male**

Ryker grimaces as he takes another sip of the bitter coffee in a bid to try and wake himself up before he's subjected to the unpleasantness that is the parade prep. His mentor, Omri, has already made sure that he knows what an awful experience it is, telling Dalia and him about it at dinner last night, and Ryker can't say that he's looking forward to it at all. From the little he's grasped from their escort about it as the irritating woman has been jabbering on this morning, Ryker is sure that he'd rather just skip straight through to the training days.

The Hunger Games sure are acting as a pretty good contraceptive for fun, that's for sure.

"Rye?" A snap in front of his face startles him, and he almost spills his mug of hot coffee everywhere as their escort demands his attention. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Maybe you should give him a moment to wake up." Dalia murmurs from somewhere across the carriage. "He looks pretty tired."

"I'm not a morning person." He counters, waving a hand dismissively towards their escort. "Just give me a minute and..."

"And what?" Amabel demands. "You'll wake up? Oh, I'm sure that the Careers wouldn't kill you in the arena if they found you during one of their morning hunts and you said that. Yeah... I'm sure they'd let you just shake it off."

Ryker opens one eye lazily, catching Dalia's gaze from where she's sat on the sofa. Both of them are clearly holding back laughter. Not at the reality of Amabel's statement; he doesn't really want to think of the scenario that she'd laid out, but more so the overreaction. Ryker had barely said a word before the woman has practically jumped on him, and he and Dalia had to find humour wherever it cropped up, especially as they were reaching the Capitol and things were becoming a lot more real.

But, with a glance towards Amabel's face, Ryker swallow the laughter with some difficulty and picks the mug of coffee back up, letting it warm his hands. He takes another sip, and he assumes that he must grimace again because Omri's reaching across the table, handing him a small jug of something.

"Put some milk in that coffee," she says with a quiet laugh. "Nobody likes drinking it black."

He murmurs a thank you as he tips it in, and he's pleasantly surprised the next time that he takes a sip. It's still bitter, but a little less than it was before. Definitely a game changer.

"We'll be at the Capitol soon," Omri says after a while, giving Ryker some times to wake up. He's still not fully awake, but at least he's able to take in what she's saying. When Omri beckons her over, Dalia sits beside Ryker, offering him a warm smile. "Now I don't know what costumes you're going to end up with, but whatever they are you have to find a way to get the Capitol on your side."

"Even if we're dressed as something stupid?" Dalia asks.

"_Especially _if you're dressed as something stupid," Omri nods. "This is the first time that they're seeing you since the reapings, when you've had some time to collect yourselves and wrap your heads around this. If you're weak now, then they're not going to pay any attention to you later on down the line. Especially if it's coupled with a low or average training score. You can be as charismatic as you want during your interview, but if the big picture isn't as compelling then you're not going to get many sponsors. I can't work with nothing."

"So... what entails looking strong in the parade?" Ryker asks. "We're just stood on chariots."

"Smile and wave," Omri says. "Make eye contact with anyone you can, blow some kisses, stuff like that." She leans across the table, snagging a banana from the fruit bowl. "They want to know that you're confident. There's no point in just staring forward, or looking up. If you're nervous, you're out."

"but how can we _not _be nervous?" Dalia fiddles with the edge of the table cloth. "We're in front of thousands of people."

"Fake it 'til you make it?" Ryker suggests, glancing towards Omri who smiles and nods.

"Fake it 'til you make it," their mentor repeats. "I was scared as shit. My partner was an asshole, my mentor wasn't of much help. I was pretty much completely on my own. But, I womaned up and gave the Capitol a show. Waved, danced, whatever I could do without falling off. They bought it. The knife that I used to kill? A sponsor gift. The canteen of water when I was on the edge of dehydration? Another sponsor gift."

"What if we bomb the parade but do well in everything else?" Ryker finishes off his coffee with a huge gulp. "Would people still sponsor us then?"

"They might." Omri shrugs. "But they also might not. A lot of people will pick out their favourites during the parade. Capitolites are a weird bunch—"

_"Hey!"_

"It's kinda true," Dalia snickers, and Amabel lets out a loud huff.

"Now, something else," Omri continues. "The time when you're milling about before the parade starts is a prime time to start taking note of allies. Or, asking them if you're certain. Have you two decided on anyone else for your alliance?"

The pair of them shake their head. They'd attempted to talk about it last night, but neither of them could really come up with anyone right off the bat. Not that the other tributes were beneath them or anything, but they have absolutely no idea of the personalities of the others. How are they supposed to know at this point who will work well with them? There's no point in inviting someone to their alliance now just because they're around the same age as them, only to find out that the person is very likely to turn on them a day into the Games.

Ryker turns to the window as Omri continues to give them tips, staring out at the scenery flying by. What he'd give to be out there right now, free from worry. He thinks back to his childhood, to the books he used to read where there was no oppression, no Hunger Games. He used to tell his parents that he wanted to live in those worlds, and they'd agree with him.

_"But we're here," _his mother would tell him sternly. _"This is our life, and we can't change that."_

Ryker thought that he grew out of that childish wishing years ago, but as he stares out, he realises that he hasn't. Not quite.

**Ivan Rolcaster (15) — 9:00AM  
District Ten Male**

He wonders if Madison has told everyone what he did by now. Idly watching the gossip channels whilst tucked in bed with the curtains closed and their escort banging on his door hasn't given the impression that she had—surely the news of a tribute trying to murder his sister would be everywhere should any Capitolite gain wind of it—but he knows that she must've. And if she does... Will the district connect it? Would they reopen his father's case? Admit that it wasn't the suicide that they thought it was?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what they'd do, and that freaks him out. Of course, they can't really punish him, not when he's on his way to a death match already. Not in a way that he knows of, at least. They can't lock him up.

But they could set a mutt on him. They could find some way to lure him somewhere and set him right in the path of the Careers. There's a lot of ways that they could make him meet his end in the arena, and it unsettles him just a little. He had to volunteer, though. He _had _to. Because if he was at home when Madison blabbed to everyone, he'd be in the small district prison before he knew it. He'd have to watch his mom try to come to terms with it; He'd have to stand there as a judge sentenced him to years and years behind bars. It'd be worse. It would be a lot worse.

But if he wins the Games and makes it back alive... well, they can't execute a Victor can they? They wouldn't.

And would they take the word of his sister over a Victor's anyway? For all they knew she could just be jealous of him getting all of the attention.

This was his only option... and the Capitol love him already.

Ivan runs his thumb over the face of his father's old watch. The one that he had pocketed before he left the house for this exact reason. They wouldn't let him take rope into the Games, so he'd have to settle. Even looking at the watch knowing that it belonged to hi father is enough to make his lip curl in disgust.

He hadn't _wanted _to kill the man. Not really. But at that moment it felt like he _needed _to. He had to do it. And it was the same with Madison this morning. He didn't _want _to kill her, and when that rope had snapped it had almost been a relief. Until he remembered that she could tell. She could and she would and Ivan would have to pay for what he'd done...

"I've got a key!" His escort declares, diverting his attention away from the TV in the corner of the room. "I'll unlock this door if you don't!"

Ivan rolls his eyes at the woman's threat. Why was breakfast so important anyway? In a couple of days he'll be starving, and whatever meal he has now isn't exactly going to save his life. Still, to put an end to the incessant pleas for him to leave his room, he tucks his father's watch into the pocket on his pyjama shirt and crosses the room, unlocking the door.

Ophelia glares at him as he opens the door slightly, just enough for him to look out of. "And what time do you think this is?" She asks, arms crossed across her chest. "I've been knocking for the last half an hour."

"I'm a deep sleeper." He jests, but the joke seems to fall flat as the woman seems to narrow her eyes even more.

"Breakfast will be cleaned up soon," she says shortly. "If you want to eat then you'd better hurry up."

The woman storms off, and Ivan begrudgingly follows her. Maybe the meal won't matter in the long run, but he is kind of hungry, and both of the mentors had made sure to tell the two of them that they were in for a long day over and over again last night.

Sitting down opposite his district partner, he gives her a warm hello. The girl returns it, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

"And I thought I was late for breakfast." she says with a snort. "You almost gave Ophelia an aneurysm."

"She's horrible." Ivan shrugs.

"I wouldn't say she's horrible." Bonnie shakes her head. "She just... knows what she wants, I guess."

"And doesn't shut up about it."

Bonnie shrugs at that. "She's just trying to keep everything going," she says. "I'm sure she'll chill out a little towards... well, you know..."

"The bloodbath?"

Bonnie's smile drops. "Well I was trying not to think about it, but yeah. The bloodbath. The Games as a whole, I guess."

"That's kind of a long way away, though," he says, and he holds up a finger as Bonnie frowns and opens her mouth. "A week is a long time when you're stuck with an insufferable person."

"You're telling me."

Ivan raises his eyebrows, getting ready to ask what she meant by that when the doors slide open and their mentors shuffle in, still in their pyjamas, too. Ophelia trails in after them, looking rather smug with herself as the three take the empty spots at the table. She quickly dissolves into a tirade about how all of the other districts were _'almost certainly'_ up by now and how _'uncivilised'_ it is to eat at the table in their pyjamas. How Roscoe '_astounds' _her every year with his _'inability' _to use even the _'utterly basic' _table manners, how Cricket's meal choices are just so '_bafflingly odd'_.

Thankfully, she seems to keep both him and Bonnie out of her tirades, the two of them chuckling into their food as their mentors grow increasingly uncomfortable with every word that tumbles out of the woman's mouth.

Ivan is starting to be thankful for the fact that his initial idea for a token would have been almost immediately confiscated; if he had access to that bundle of rope right now... well, he wouldn't be accountable for his own actions. But then again, would anyone blame him? Hell, everyone else in this room would probably help him do the deed with the annoyed glances they keep giving the woman.

The murder of an escort, though... Ivan isn't exactly sure that he'd be able to get away with that one, Victor or not. The Capitolites take any threat to their society very deeply. Someone that far in the public eye? Ivan would have practically signed his death warrant the moment he'd started towards her with the intent.

Full, he gets to his feet and leaves the room, ignoring Ophelia's calls after him. She's trying too hard, he thinks as he slams his door shut, because he and Bonnie are never going to be the District Ten dream team she seems to be after.

Settling back into his bed, Ivan flips through the channels, listening for any indication that Madison has told everybody what he'd done.

That's perhaps the scariest thing to him right now. Not the Games, not the Careers, not the realisation that he could be dead.

His own sister and the deed he'd almost committed yesterday morning.

**Kite Aegir (17) — 10:00AM  
District Four Male**

Kite can't believe that he's actually here. Only thirty minutes or so away from the Capitol as the official tribute for District Four. He's finally done it; he's finally proved to Tiber that he's stronger than he is, that he's the better of the two like he's always said. Nothing felt better than standing on that stage and staring down at his self declared rival knowing that he's finally bested him.

"You know," Aveta says, taking a bite from an apple as the two of them lounge on the sofa. "There's always the chance that Tiber will volunteer next year, right? Whether he's picked to or not. Then suddenly you won't be the best anymore."

"I'll be the first," Kite says sharply. "That'll still make me better than him and you know it."

Aveta holds a hand up in a mock surrender. "I was just saying—"

"Save the arguing for the arena," Baia murmurs. "you'll have plenty of time in there to be at each other's throats."

Aveta scowls at her mentor, but she doesn't say anything. Kite wants to tack on that he'll be the leader in this years' Career Pack, because there's no way in hell any Career with good sense would let that good for nothing lead, but he knows that It's also Aveta's goal, and he doesn't want to start something just before they pull into the Capitol. They might not like it, but for the next week then they need to act as if they get along because nobody is going to put their bets on a fractured Career Pack. They'll go for the boy in Ten who volunteered, or whatever alliance seems the most coherent.

It's surprisingly easy for a Career Pack to fall out of favour, and Kite can't be having that in his Games. Not when he's trying to prove to Tiber, to the whole of Four, to the Capitol... to anyone and everyone watching him, that he's the best. Because he is. He is. And he finally has a chance to make it known; to attempt to put the rivalry to bed (although he knows that Tiber won't let it rest. The idiot will more than likely give his life next year for the refusal to believe that he's been bested. Kite almost looks forward to watching it. To having to mentor him, and make the boy listen to what he says).

"Talk to the other Careers before the parade," Baia breaks the silence, offering more unwanted advice. Their other mentor has already resigned himself to being no help. At least he had some sense. "Make it clear to the others that you mean business."

"They already know." Kite rolls his eyes. "It' not as if this is some cool new alliance. The others know that we're going to be an alliance. They know that we're going to kill their sorry asses."

The Career Pack lead every kill scoreboard across Panem year after year. The other tributes are scared of them, _should _be scared of them. Because more likely than not, the six of them are going to be the ones to end their lives. That's just how it is. He doubts that anyone is going to meet his gaze as he stares around the holding room waiting for the chariots to roll out. Hell he'll take pleasure in it.

If he wants to show off to Tiber than he has no other choice than to be on the top of his game. Not that he rarely isn't, of course—he'd been chosen for the Hunger Games after all, despite only being seventeen. It had been rather entertaining to listen to the complaints of the boys who were aging out this year. Kite feels a little sorry for them, but he doesn't doubt that it was the right decision.

Aveta may think that she's going to be the one to bring District Four glory this year, but Kite has to disagree; the trainers at the Academy didn't give him the nickname of Shark for nothing.

"I still want to know what your plan is for next year," Aveta murmurs as they move towards the window, away from Baia, as they start to approach the outskirts of the Capitol. "You'll have to mentor him."

"Which means that he'll have to do as I say."

"_Right_," Aveta smirks, crossing her arms. "Just like we're giving Baia the time of day? I've trained with Tiber; he's going to do the complete opposite of what you tell him to, just because. He's not going to give you that satisfaction. No way in hell."

"Well that says more about him than it does me," Kite says, tilting his chin up. "If he doesn't want to listen then that's fine, but we both know he'll just die quicker. I mean he's never getting out of that arena alive, but…"

"I wouldn't big yourself up too much," Aveta says. "Anything can happen in the arena. I wouldn't want you to be disappointed."

"I'd say the same to you," he retorts.

"At least I'm doing this for something other than a petty rivalry." Aveta curls her top lip. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, Aegir—"

"I _said_ leave it for the arena!" Baia interrupts them and both of them immediately tense up. Kite doesn't know what it is about the woman, but he's starting to lose his patience with her. Both he and Aveta have made it clear that that they don't want her help, yet she keeps offering it.

"Why doesn't she just go and mentor Twelve or something," Aveta huffs as the woman finally takes her leave after a tense stony silence. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to have her…"

The conversation falls flat as the train finally starts to pass the insanely large crowds lined up only a stone's throw from the train. The two of them instantly start smiling and waving, something that was drilled into them in the academy; _always engage with the Capitolites. They can save your life._

The train screeches to a halt, and before they know it they're being herded onto the platform themselves, with the noise becoming almost deafening as they step off the train. People are calling their names, people are cheering, and Kite is pretty sure that it can't get better than this. The pride swelling in him is so much stronger than it ever has been before; even when he was on that stage. Even when his name was read out as the selected volunteer.

They're chanting _his _name. Not Tiber's.

He can't even begin to imagine what this will be like when he's boarding the train to head back to Four. The platform will be even more crowded than it is now; the amount of cameras and flashing doubled. People asking him to sign things for them, people asking him to marry him.

Capitolites go crazy over tributes, but downright insane over Victors.

He can't wait.

* * *

**Alliances:**

**Career Pack: **Kieron, Cinderella, Percival, Desdemona, Kite & Aveta**  
D3 pair: **Nathaniel & Ariah  
**D6 pair: **Carson & Tyravia  
**D7 pair: **Cypress & Lilah  
**D9 pair:** Ryker & Dalia

* * *

**AN:**

We _finally_ have all twenty four tributes introduced, and I couldn't be happier! I've been wanting to get this chapter out for a while, with the hopes of getting into the second round of tribute's POVs sooner, but for some reason this chapter took a while to write. But it's finally done and that's what matters. I hope that you enjoyed reading this, and I'd love to know your thoughts on everyone. Now that we've seen them all, there will be a poll on my profile asking about your favourite tributes—this isn't going to influence anything; I'm just curious!

If you're in the discord then you would know this because I literally don't shut up about it; I'm a third year university student, and I have a dissertation to write this year, blah blah. Anyway, to focus on this, I'm not going to be focusing on this SYOT until it's done. I might write a POV here or there, but there won't be anything consistent and likely not an update until my dissertation is finished and submitted. The due date is the 22nd of May, so hopefully I'll see you around then!

This chapter is also likely to have a lot of typos, I'm aware. The keyboard on my laptop is starting to pack up, which isn't fun given my approaching deadline, but I'll try to sort any typos out tomorrow. I just really want to get this chapter out so that the intros are done.

I'm still figuring out how I want to structure the pre Games, so I'm not sure who will have POVs in the next chapter or who they'll be from, but once everything is figured out I'll have them on my profile as usual.

See you next chapter whenever that may be! I hope that everyone is staying safe and well! :)

_-In Writing_


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